Passage to Somnium
by Jennifer Harrison


Somnium, Day 31:

Dear Diary,

It is the monthiversary of my arrival here in Somnium, and I can no longer tell myself that this is some kind of dream, although it could be that, back in ‘the real world’, I've fallen into a coma and this is all one huge hallucination, like that TV series ‘Life on Mars’. But I don't think so, somehow I've arrived in this parallel universe and I can't figure out a way back. Fuck!

I think Kim is finally coming to terms with some of the more challenging aspects of her new role. Miss Ashley doesn't often punish us, she much prefers to torture us with frustrated pleasure. She may tie one or both of us up and then force us to the edge of orgasm before withdrawing the simulation until we step back, repeating this pattern for hours, until we’re begging, pleading or crying for relief. She can be a real bitch sometimes!

One time, she tied us together, face-to-face, our naked bodies crushed against each other, and told us that she would only untie us when we had each made the other cum. Well, that was one long day, I can tell you! If we'd been tied in the 69 position, it would have been easy, we’d have been free within minutes probably, but in what one might call the 99 position, it was impossible to get any leverage against any of the erogenous zones. It wasn't until we managed to find a stick, which we threaded between our thighs and sawed back and forth like we were cutting down a tree, that we finally managed to deliver the required amount of simulation in the right areas. That was fairly humiliating, especially as we are having to do it in front of the house slaves, who already looked down their noses at us.

But every so often, our owner decides to ‘play’ a little more roughly. I don't know whether it's when she's in a particularly bad mood due to work or local politics, which she seems to be very big in, or it's her period or something, but she can get really quite violent when she wants to.

She may only punish one of us at a time, but that enables her to get the other one to tie her chosen victim up for her. Kim is very good at this, obviously having studied Shibari rope work somewhere in a misspent childhood, and she seems to be able to tie me in such a way that almost every inch of my body is available to Miss for punishment. Needless to say, it's not a skill that I greatly appreciate. But occasionally, Miss Ashley will order me to do the tying, so that Kim can do the suffering. My dexterity with a rope may not be comparable to that of my fellow slave, but it gets the job done, and once tied, she's not going to get free.

Miss Ashley tends to favour the cane, which seems a particularly cruel weapon to me - I never enjoyed it when my Master used it on me, back in the ‘good old days’, and it hasn't got any better since. So when I get let off, there's definitely a sense of relief, even though I also feel sorry for Kim.

On the first occasion Miss caned her, Kim was reduced to a screaming, blubbering wreck, and I had to try and comfort her for hours afterwards.

"I can't take it if she does that to me again," she sobbed on my shoulder.

"We just need to work on how you process the pain," I responded, bringing all my vast experience of being punished to the table. “Okay, first thing is, you have to relax. I know it’s hard, but a tense muscle is going to transmit the pain much worse than a relaxed one. Then, when you do get hit, you need to breathe, feel that pain leaving your body with the air that you breathe out. Visualise it moving from the concentrated pain at the contact point and dissipating into the air around you.

"One of the most important things to do is to accept that you're going to get hurt, there's nothing you can do about it, so just allow it to happen. And try and focus on that point in time when the pain will have stopped, the beating has ended and your body is recovered. It might not actually make it any less painful, but hopefully it will stop you focusing on the thrashing as it happens."

It seems terribly thin, even to me. Maybe you don't learn that much from getting smacked around after all! However, it did seem to have some effect, because her second experience was much less traumatic and, over the last few weeks, Kim seems to have got it together very well.

Most of our ‘duties’ are actually quite pleasurable, sometimes even good fun. Things like sucking on Miss Ashley's toes, or getting a bit more personal between her thighs is something I find quite rewarding, because I like to feel that I can make the person controlling me lose control of themselves. When she's whimpering with pleasure, I get a genuine feeling of pride in my achievement. Sneer if you like, but we slaves have our professional pride too, you know!

Our owner also seems to get quite a kick out of watching the pair of us making out, which is always a pleasurable experience, for me at least. Given that I don't consider myself to be a lesbian, I wonder if I should be in any way concerned about these feelings? Um… nah, I kissed a girl and I liked it, enough said.

This morning, we were entertaining Miss and a couple of her coffee-morning friends with a race. Each of us had tied up one of the house slaves, with their legs wide and available, on the far side of the room. Miss Ashley had then put each of us into a pretty strict hogtie on the floor. The game was to get across the room and make our slave cum first - the winner would get a day lounging by the pool, the loser would spend the day working in the gardens, doing all the dirty and backbreaking work that the gardener could find, so it was definitely worth cumming first, as it were.

There were, of course, side bets being laid, so each of us had a couple of very vocal backers. Everything started so well, and I got a good rhythm going, squirming across the marble floor, leaving Kim trailing in my wake. The ladies were really getting into it at this stage, squealing and laughing as they urged us on to greater effort, and I saw Kim's backers  ’encouraging’ her with liberal swats from a riding crop across the bottom.

I reached my slave first, and struggled up onto my knees so that I could bury my face between her outstretched thighs. Come on you frigid bitch, I urged as I lapped away, cum for me! Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kim reach her goal and begin pleasuring her slave, and I began to work more desperately. But I really had drawn the short straw, I think my slave was broken! It didn't seem to matter what I did, I just couldn't make her cum, and it was with a growing sense of inevitability that I listened to the moans and groans next to me. My backers, becoming rather desperate, began laying into me, urging me on, even though what they should have been doing was urging my bloody slave on!

With a high-pitched squeal and a round of triumphant cheers, Kim's slave came to an obviously glorious climax. Kim sat back on her heels, a smug, self-satisfied grin on her face as she contemplated a few hours of luxury, watching me toiling away in the flowerbeds while she caught some rays. Now my bitch finally condescended to reach her orgasm, and to top it all, she was a squirter, drenching my face in her salty, fishy juices.

So, there I was, during the hottest part of the day, the sun beating down on my back and me drenched in sweat, pulling up weeds with my bare hands and moving a bunch of rocks to the new rockery, while my equal-in-all-ways slave colleague lay back on her sunlounger, sipping a cocktail.

"How is it going over there, Jenny?" she crowed maliciously.

"Fuck off!" I wittily replied.

It must have been about three in the afternoon when Miss Ashley appeared and called us back to the house, much to my relief and Kim’s annoyance. As we scooted onto our knees on the marble floor, it quickly became obvious that the coffee-morning ladies had transformed into ladies who lunch, and this looked like a three-martini lunch!

But we were not the centre of attention, that was very clearly reserved for the hunk at the door. He looked about seven feet tall and was dressed like some Arabian harem guard – he was bare-chested and ripped, fit, drop-dead gorgeous – basically he was hot as fuck. His face was concealed behind a towelling headdress, revealing only his smouldering black eyes. Crap on a cracker!

I saw that several of the ladies were drooling over him, but he scared the bejesus out of me - he looked like a slave trader! Had Miss Ashley sold us? Or just me? Was she bored with me?

"Who is this delectable young man, Ash?" one of the ladies asked.

"Oh, this is Jerome, he's on the festival committee and he's come to pick up my girls - I've donated them for the week, to provide entertainment for the tourists. They're all yours, Jerome."

"Yes, ma'am, and thank you for your generosity, the committee appreciates it," he responded in a deep, sonorous voice. He was carrying a set of slave chains, and he walked over to us and locked a yolk around each of our necks, before dragging us to our feet.

"Oh, you’d better blinker them," Miss added, "we don't want them getting spooked by the crowds."

Jerome pulled eye masks down over our faces, blindfolding us rather than blinkering us, before dragging us out of the door. I heard the ladies resuming their conversation, our fate of no interest to them whatsoever.

I stumbled along behind Kim as we headed outside and then down the gravel drive. I heard the electronic gate swing open, and felt the surface under our feet change from dirt track to pavement as we continued blindly towards the centre of the city. As we went further, the noise of the people around us increased, and we began to be jostled as we forced our way through the crowd. I felt terribly exposed and vulnerable as we walked on - despite my experience as a slave, I wasn't used to being out in public, naked and in chains, it was quite unnerving. But it became positively humiliating when we started to get the comments:

"Slaves!" a female voice called out beside us, "either of them for sale?"

"I'll take the grey-haired one! She's hot!"

"Is that redhead a crossover? I'd tan her hide and fuck her all day!"

"No, you’d have to fuck her in the ass so you didn't have to look at her face!"

"Works for me!"

This went on throughout our forced march, and was accompanied by wandering hands groping my breasts and buttocks. I felt quite grateful that Jerome hurried us on, ignoring our stumbles and little squeaks of alarm.

Eventually, we arrived at what turned out to be our destination. There was an overpowering smell of horses, indeed I could hear their hooves clip-clopping around us, as well as the occasional neigh. When we were led into a small area and made to sit on some straw, it became obvious that we were in a stable. I felt the chain around my neck being attached to the wall against which I was leaning, and then it seemed we were alone.

"You okay, Kim?" I whispered into the void.

"Not really, to be honest," she replied.

"What the hell do you think is going to happen to us here?"

"I don't know, but I don't expect it will be anything good, do you?"

I've heard it said that war is long periods of boredom interrupted by brief moments of terror. That seemed a pretty good description of our lives, and I wondered how long it would be before the next moment of terror arrived…

Somnium, Day 32:

Dear Diary,

“Oh Jenny, what are we going to do now?”

“Hmm,” I thought deeply about this question, “I have a feeling we’ll do exactly what we’re told to do. Job description,  you see? Didn’t they make that clear to you when you applied?”

“You cheeky bitch!” Kim growled, but I could hear the amusement in her voice at my attempt at sarcasm. “Wait till I get you alone!”

“We’re alone now,” I said reasonably, “watcha gonna do, hey?” We were sitting side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder, on a hay bale in a stables, surrounded by dumb animals – well, maybe not as dumb as us, as they hadn't volunteered to be beasts of burden, as we had. We had been left for the night, chained to the wall, arms locked behind and blindfold. I thought I was pretty safe.

Suddenly I felt Kim lean across me and plant her lips on mine, her tongue aggressively forcing its way in my mouth. She pushed her body against mine, our breasts squashing together as I was bent back until I felt the hay stubble prickling my back and arms. I was totally taken by surprise by this ‘assault’ – Kim and I had kissed, and more, before, but that had always been under orders. Did she have feelings for me?

I didn’t know, but what I couldn’t ignore was the way my body was responding. I returned her kiss strongly, sucking on her tongue stud, and arching my back to press my body against hers.

This nascent passion was doomed to end in frustration, of course, with our arms locked behind and the belts preventing any access to our eager pussies. After a few minutes of struggle, we both slid down onto the cold, concrete floor, and ended up spooning to keep warm, my hands massaging her thighs while her lips nuzzled my neck. That was how we fell sleep.

I was woken the next morning by the harsh sound of a metal bowl being clattered down on the floor by my head. Great, with my blindfold removed, I could see that breakfast was to be a generous helping of dry, tasteless, but undoubtedly nutritious pellets! I was sure that, as well as all the vitamins and protein a slave could need, these things contained an oral contraceptive as well. Using slaves for breeding is illegal in this place, and ‘accidents’ are seriously investigated by the police, but I had never been offered a pill, nor had anyone ever used protection when they had been fucking me. I’d asked Kim about HIV, but she’d just looked at me blankly. She’d also never heard of syphilis, gonorrhea, chlamydia, or any other STI. I suppose consequence-free sex was a prerequisite for a society which was based on legalised sex slavery.

“Ah, my bright young fillies, let’s get you all blinged up for your performance!”

This hearty greeting came from the young man striding towards us in bright purple velour trousers, knee boots and a cerise silk blouson top. I’d suspected what was going to happen to us ever since we’d arrived here, but his use of the term ‘fillies’ just confirmed it.

“Our leitmotif this year is gold, more gold, and ponytails, so let’s get busy!” His genuine 1,000 watt enthusiasm was instantly tiring. In his wake, a young girl, obviously a slave, trailed, carrying a huge suitcase, from which all the subsequent paraphernalia was produced.

Our ‘dresser’ (“artistic  designer, darling,” as he would have said, I’m sure) called me to him, and stripped me of my collar, cuffs, steel nipple rings and chastity belt, before inserted solid gold nipple rings and attaching an ornate golden replacement belt. The girl did the same to Kim.

“Hey, crossover, lucky you,” he said to me archly, as he replaced my nose ring with a gold one, “you don’t have to wear a clip-on.” At that moment, I heard Kim let out a pained squeal as the slavegirl applied the clip-on ring which, clearly, was not exactly ‘comfy’. I was fitted with a heavy golden yolk locked around my neck, as was Kim.

Next were a pair of boots, which I pulled on while sitting on the hay bale. They were the weirdest boots I’d ever worn, because the rigid sole was shaped exactly like a high heel, except that the heel was entirely missing. I clambered unsteadily to my feet and struggled to stop myself falling right back down again, feeling like a stilt walker on very small stilts. I could see that Kim was having the same problem, and we must have looked comical as we staggered back and forth, trying to maintain our balance. In the end, we clung to each other for mutual support.

When I could focus on the ‘designer’ again, he was holding up a head harness, which he slipped into place while my hands were occupied holding on to Kim. The harness was all leather and gold rings, with a rubber bit to go between the teeth. From the top of the harness came a ponytail made of black synthetic hair, which I thought looked rather incongruous. However, the man took out some kind of scanner which shone a laser on my hair, then plugged it into the top of my harness. When he did the same to Kim, who was by now wearing an identical harness, I watched in amazement as her black pony tail turned the exact shade of grey as her natural hair. When I grabbed my own ponytail, I saw that it was now just my shade. Amazing!

“Last but not least.” I turned and saw that he was holding up a huge butt plug with a long tail hanging from it. “Bend over, dear.”

I did as I was told, and then screamed as the plug was thrust into place without the benefit of lubrication, the answering scream from Kim telling me that she had suffered the same ignominy. Jesus, you would have thought the budget could run to a tube of KY!

"Et viola! My pretty little ponies!" he said with a self-congratulatory clap of his hands, looking very pleased with himself. Kim and I looked at each other, knowing that we each looked as ridiculous as the other. Mind you, I was also thinking that Kim looked damn hot, therefore so must I - I've always had a bit of a ponygirl thing myself. "And now, ladies, your carriage awaits!" We were led out of the stables and into the courtyard, where we saw a two wheeled buggy which it was now clear we were going to be pulling. The slavegirl lifted up the bar at the front of the cart and we ducked under it. Moments later, we were shackled to it with golden chains. Kim and I exchanged looks, the fear etched on her face as I'm sure it was on mine

"I'll leave you in the very capable and delicious hands of Clint, your handler," the design guru said, indicating the man walking towards us. He was tall and fit, with a shaved head and designer stubble. At that moment, I think all three of us would have been happy to take him to bed (and I'm not including the slavegirl in that either)!

Without a smile, Clint attached a gold chain to my nose ring, and then one to Kim's, before standing in front of us, looking very severe.

"Ponies don't talk, so you don't talk either, understand?" he said threateningly, "if you need to attract my attention, either neigh, whinny or scrape your foot on the ground. If you need to go to the bathroom, you do it in the street, like a real pony." With that, he marched off down the alley, pulling us along by the chains. Kim and I took up the weight of the buggy and stumbled after him, feeling the painful tug on the nose ring.

Just around the corner, we came to a sign on the sidewalk, which I read with growing astonishment and alarm:

Ponygirl rides.
Let our ponygirls, Dancer and Prancer, take you on a magical tour of the city's highlights.
30 Minutes for $30.
Families: midday-17.00, Adults only: 19.00-midnight"

10 hours of work, with a two-hour break in the middle?! Shit, this was going to be gruelling! The question of which one of us was Dancer and which was Prancer seemed rather moot. I looked up at the town hall clock and saw that it was just coming up to midday - show time!

Our first paying customers were the family from hell - fat husband, fat wife, fat kid.

"Is that $30 for the full city tour?" the fat man asked, eliciting a nod but no smile from the taciturn Clint. "Okay, I guess I can pony up for that. Hey darling! Did you hear that? I said  I’d ‘pony up’ the money!”

“Yes, dear,” his wife responded wearily, "quit horsing around and get on the cart."

The cart creaked under the combined weight of the Lard family, and Kim and I both looked round in disbelief as they managed to cram their fat arses onto the seat. Surely not?! Our attention was firmly brought back front and centre by a yank on the gold chains, and we both strained to get the buggy moving.

"Come on, you pathetic bitches!" the man cried out behind us as we failed to move," I want my money’s worth! Here, maybe this will get you started!" Suddenly, I heard the crack of a whip and felt a line of pain erupt across my back, making me cry out. The whip cracked again, and this time Kim screamed. With every ounce of strength, I pushed on the bar in front of me, and finally the cart started to roll forward. Once we had it moving, it wasn't too difficult to keep it going, but that didn't stop our passengers from taking potshots at us with the horsewhip, just to amuse themselves.

If you were walking or driving around the city, you would say it was flat. However, when you're pulling three great mounds of blubber, even the slightest incline feels like a trek up Mount Everest, and going down was even more frightening, as we fought to keep our feet and not get run down by the cart.

We definitely earned our $30 for that half hour and, by the time we got back, we were sweating and exhausted. As we stood by the sign, fighting for breath and feeling the muscle aches in back, thighs and calves, Clint came over with squeezy bottles of water, firing the spray into our mouths and over our faces. But there was already a line of customers waiting, and we were soon back at work, pulling the tourists around the city.

By the time we reached five o'clock, Kim and I were both literally on our knees, and when Clint unshackled us from the cart, we both collapsed, flat out on the road, while our handler doused us with buckets of water. He released the bit gag from my mouth, and dinner arrived in the form of, yes you guessed it, a bowl of pellets.

As the clock struck seven, we were dragged to our feet, harnessed to the buggy again, and our bit gags clipped back into place. We were back on the rank, and soon back on the street.

I had been wondering what the difference was going to be between afternoon and evening sessions, and the first was that there were no kids allowed in the evening. There were also a lot more drink-fuelled passengers around, having a laugh with their mates and ready to take advantage of us ponies. It was becoming quite common to be groped as the customers decided whether they wanted a ride, and the whip got a lot more use throughout the evening.

One other change was that Clint did not lead us around our route, he said that we should know the way by now, so he just stayed with the cash box and left us on our own. This led to one frightening situation, where a group of drunken lads hired us and then, as soon as we were out of sight of our handler, whipped us hard to force us to race against their friends who were running alongside. It was scary enough just trying to go along at a slow jog, but now we were running, and between the cobbled streets and our bizarre footwear, we were in constant fear of injury, either from crashing the cart, overturning it, or falling under it.

Somehow, we managed to survive until we got back to our start position. Unluckily for the lads, Clint had been paying attention, had seen what they had done, and there was a police wagon on hand to take them away for a cooling-off period in the cells. Word obviously got around, and the rest of the night was relatively peaceful.

Midnight finally arrived, and Clint had us pull the cart into the stables. We were released, and just about managed to crawl into our allotted stall before we flaked out on the hard floor. Just before I fell into an exhausted sleep, I started to wonder if Kim and I could survive seven days of this kind of punishment…

Somnium, Day 42:

Dear Diary,

The ‘festival week’ turned out to be ten days, ten days of backbreaking work, but we have survived!

It actually became easier, as Kim and I got fitter and stronger. We also learned the tricks and techniques of pulling the buggy – synchronising our efforts, not starting too quickly, looking ahead and anticipating corners or stops, ignoring the ignorant shits whipping us and urging us to go faster, that kind of thing. But we were still utterly exhausted at the end of each day. I had begun dreaming again of my nice, comfortable cage with its thin mattress…

Clint unlocked us from the cart for the last time, and stripped us out of our ponygirl tack, replacing it with our normal chastity belt, steel collar and cuffs, before putting us back in the stall and chaining us to the wall once more.

We had been wearing those boots and the head harness continuously for the last ten days, and my ankles and jaw were screaming in agony at the newly restored ability to move. The only time the butt plug had been out of my arse had been to allow me to have a shit every other day, so sore was not the word. It was a great relief to finally be free of them, but we were unsure of what would happen next. Kim and I looked at each other with consternation, but didn't dare to speak.

"Up, slaves." It was Jerome, the man who had brought us here in the first place. We both jumped up and he unchained us from the wall. Rather than blindfolding us, as he had done on the way here, he gagged us, the large rubber ball once more stretching my already aching jaw. He took up the chains hanging from our collars and led us out of the stables. At last, we were on our way back ‘home’.

Our trip to the stables had been pretty frightening, having to make our way through the crowds, who were fascinated to see two slaves being marched along the street. However, now the streets were thronged with people excitedly waiting for the end of festival parade to begin. They were getting restless, and the drink had been flowing all day, so the sight of us coming towards them offered a welcome distraction.

As Jerome dragged us along, I could now see the reaction we were receiving, and it was very scary, a mixture of lechery, disgust, and outright hatred. Two young lads lurched in front of me, and I got a strong whiff of stale beer as their leering faces were inches from my own.

"Who are you, then, you little slut?" one of them asked belligerently, his tone slurred by the alcohol.

"She's one of those crossovers, isn't she, she's got the nose ring and everything," his rather more sober companion replied, putting his finger through the ring and pulling on it painfully, making me cry out into the gag.

"Brilliant!" the first one said, grabbing my breast and squeezing it hard, "that means we can do whatever we want to you, because you’re just a worthless bitch!"

I was getting very frightened by now, and hoping desperately that Jerome would pull me forward, away from these two, as he had done on our previous journey. But he seemed quite content to wait and see what developed. Meanwhile, the first boy had grabbed me by the arse, pulling me close to him, and he seemed to be tearing at my chastity belt, trying to pull it off.

“Hey, you!” he called over to Jerome, "take this thing off, I want to fuck her!" I looked at Jerome in alarm, shaking my head no, not that my concerns would have made any difference.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he replied calmly, "the owner has specified that these slaves should be locked up at all times.”

The man grabbed my hair and yanked my whole body back, before biting down so hard on my breast that I screamed.

“Come on, Dave,” his friend said dismissively, “ leave it, she’s not worth it.” He pushed me forcefully, and I staggered away, shaken by the encounter.

Things got worse as we pressed on through the crowd. I noticed that people were happy enough to allow Kim to avoid them as she walked along, generally ignoring her. But it appeared they wouldn’t tolerate me near them, and I found myself being pushed and jostled whenever I walked close to anyone. The place was so busy, however, that every push sent me stumbling into someone else, and I found myself being pushed from pillar to post and, pretty soon, things got ugly.

I could hear the angry grumblings of people as they pushed me away and, after one particularly violent shove, I fell against a middle-aged lady.

“Aaah!” she screamed, “get this filthy animal off me!” The man next to her, presumably her partner, stepped forward and, a moment later, I found myself doubled over in agony from a punch to the solar plexus, driving all the air out of my body and leaving me gasping for breath. A moment later, I felt a boot against my thigh kicking out and sending me sprawling onto the pavement. The man knelt down next to me, a look of pure hatred on his face.

"Take your stinking paws off my wife, you damned dirty ape!" he growled.

Through the stars swimming in front of my eyes, I saw him get up and pull his wife away, continuing to shout insults in my direction. I was still fighting to get some oxygen back into my lungs when I felt the chain on my collar dragging me up.

There were tears streaming down my face as we made our way down the street, the verbal and physical abuse continuing. This was awful, I hadn't realised the level of hate there was for crossovers like me! I shrank back in fear, wondering where and when the next punch would be delivered.

Jerome led us off the main street down which the parade was due to pass and into the back streets which were, thankfully, virtually deserted. I had assumed that he would be leading us back to Miss Ashley's mansion, but it became clear that that was not the case. We were going somewhere else, and I became nervous once again, wondering what new humiliation we would be facing.

My first inkling that things were going to be worse than I thought was the reaction of Kim as we made our way through the narrow alleys. We suddenly emerged from the warren of back streets in front of a large, imposing building. I heard muffled whimpers from my fellow slave alongside me, and when I looked across at her, I saw the terrified expression on her face as she tried to stop in her tracks, shaking her head. Jerome had to pull sharply on the chain to make her step forward, but it was clear that something had spooked her.

I looked at the building we were approaching, but couldn't see anything particularly frightening about it. That is, until I saw the huge, illuminated sign over the entrance:

Slave Market

Suddenly, I understood Kim's terror. This was the place to put the fear of God into any slave’s heart. We had both become accustomed to Miss Ashley's ways, her expectations of us. It wasn't an easy life, but the thought of being sold to some unknown owner, to be subjected to their regime of work and discipline, was the most unnerving of prospects. Our handler was now having to cope with two very resistant slaves, desperate not to be led into this place.

Not that it made any difference, the man was far stronger than both of us, having no problem in dragging us right up to the portico of the building. We were both weeping and wailing now, facing the prospect of being put on the block and sold to the highest bidder. All I could think of was, what had I done to offend Miss Ashley? How had I failed her, to the point where she would want to sell me?

As we neared the door, Jerome pulled us to one side and forced me down onto my knees alongside a row of slave posts identical to those I had encountered outside the clinic all those weeks ago. I quickly found myself chained to the post, and he moved on to Kim, quietly and efficiently securing her in a similar way. Without a backward glance, he strode off into the night, leaving us alone. What was going on? I assumed that this was merely a delay, and soon enough someone would emerge from the Slave Market and drag us inside to be disposed of. The tears began to flow down my face as despair took me in its grip.

I knelt there, uselessly pulling at the chain holding me to the post, as if I had some chance of getting free. And, even if I could get free, what would I do, where would I go? If tonight had taught me anything, it was that the population hated slaves like me and, if caught, I would be lucky to stay alive and, even if I did, my treatment would almost certainly be worse than I could imagine. There was nowhere for me to go, I was actually safer in captivity!

As time wore on, I looked over at Kim and realised that she was far more accepting of her current situation, and the realisation struck me. Of course! She couldn't be sold, she was still in her ‘probationary’ period as a consensual slave. Whatever happened here, she knew that she would be going home with Miss Ashley. The thought filled me with even more fear - I had fallen into thinking of Kim as my fellow slave, that we were both in this together, but now the reality struck me like a sledgehammer. I was alone, utterly alone, with no protection from the evils of this world. I slumped against the metal post, despair washing over me.

We had been there for maybe a couple of hours when streams of people appeared, heading towards us. They weren't coming for us though, they were heading for the Slave Market, which was obviously about to open for business. I heard them talking and laughing as they went inside, discussing the parade they had just watched and eagerly anticipating the auction they were about to attend. My stomach clenched tight as I realised I could be taken inside at any moment.

But it didn't happen. The crowd came and filed in, until there was once again no one outside but us. As the minutes dragged by, I realised that the auction must have started by now, and still I had not been taken for sale. My hopes gradually began to rise as time went on and we continued to be ignored. Perhaps Miss Ashley wasn't going to sell me? Or, a darker part of my psyche suggested to me, perhaps they've forgotten about me, and they'll come and get me at the end of the auction, when they realise they are one lot short…

Eventually, the crowd started to emerge from the Market once more, and a huge wave of relief washed over me - the auction must be over, and I hadn't been sold! My earlier tears of despair were now replaced by tears of joy at the thought that I would soon be returning to the relative safety and comfort of Miss Ashley's mansion.

Several of the people I had seen entering the building were now pulling naked slaves behind them, obviously the result of successful bids at the auction. There was a huge variety of men and women now being led away to their new life, although I noticed that none of them had the nose ring which signified that they were crossovers - it seemed that I was a very rare beast indeed.

Suddenly, my heart leapt as I saw the shapely form of Miss Ashley appear. She was deep in conversation with a large, well-built man who, in turn, was holding onto a heavy slave chain. But what was astonishing was the line of slaves at the other end of the chain. I saw a group of naked women, shackled and collared, all joined together and being led by the man talking to our owner. But what surprised me was the fact that each of these slaves was completely bald, their heads shaved, and they had numbers stencilled on their foreheads. I had never seen slaves like this before, and I found their presence both intimidating and unnerving. They were all well-muscled and clearly very fit, but they also looked mean and angry. I wondered what their story was, how they came to be here, up for sale, and now owned by Miss Ashley. She stopped close by us and continued to converse with the man.

"I want these slaves taken up to the estate," she was saying, "they’re going to be good, strong workers, but be careful, they can be dangerous."

"Yes, ma'am," the man replied with a deferential nod of the head.

"And take these two with you," Miss Ashley added, waving and an arm in our direction. As the man went off to carry out his orders, Miss came over and squatted down in front of me, taking my chin in her hand.

"I hear that you and Kim have been getting on very well," she said with a knowing smile, "I'm sure you've been having a very nice time together." She unbuckled the gag strap and pulled the ball from my mouth, enabling me to stretch my aching jaw and then, to my surprise, removed my nose ring.

"Thank you, Miss, we-" I started to say, but was silenced by a vicious back-handed slap across the face. As I tried to recover from the shock of this unexpected punishment, I turned back to face her, only to find her forcing a strange and frightening mask over my face. It had clear panels over the eyes, tiny holes for the nostrils, and a strange tube which was forced into my mouth. She tightened the straps behind my head and under my chin, holding it securely in place, and it seemed to mould itself to my cheeks and forehead, completely covering my face. She then managed to force the nose ring through one of the small breathing holes, through my septum, and back out of the other side, so that I was now effectively locked into the mask, making breathing even more difficult.

"I think you've been getting ideas above your station, little slave," she hissed at me, "I think you've been forgetting yourself. Always remember that you are nothing more than a crossover, lowest of the low, not fit to kiss the feet of a consensual slave like Kim. I think some time working on my estate will teach you a valuable lesson."

I tried to speak, to explain, to beg for mercy, but the tube in my mouth prevented me from forming words, and I realised that the end of the tube was blocked, reducing my cries almost to silence. As I struggled and cried out, Miss Ashley walked away, ignoring my desperate pleas. The tone of her admonishment frightened me, reminding me of the contempt and hatred I had encountered in the streets. I had been reminded of my position in society in the most harsh and unequivocal terms, and I began to wonder exactly how my owner intended to ‘put me in my place’. Given her absolute power over me, it was not a pleasant prospect.

“Kim,” Miss Ashley continued as she removed the gag from her other personal slave, "I want you to accompany this party to my estate, and I want you to supervise Jenny. My slave master will fill you in on the details when you get there."

"Yes, Miss," Kim responded, and I saw the wicked smile on her face. If I'd hoped for any empathy from her, I now knew that was very unlikely.

The man that Miss Ashley had been speaking to earlier returned with a horse-drawn cart, which had an odd arrangement of a cage, a platform and a post on it. He was accompanied by three rough-looking men with nothing on but tight pantaloons, which left little to the imagination. At their waists, they each wore a belt from which hung a coiled whip, a crop and what looked like a taser, and I assumed that these were guards to control the slaves being transported which, of course, would include Kim and me. I certainly didn't fancy being disciplined by any of these muscle-bound thugs.

"This one," the slave master said, pointing at Kim, "goes in the cage, the other one needs to be locked on the platform. The field slaves will be attached to the cart behind. Jump to it!"

While Kim was released from the slave post and hustled into the cage near the front of the cart, I was dragged up onto the small platform, where chains were attached to my collar, pulling me down into a kneeling crouch. I felt my bound wrists being pulled up behind me, and I was chained to the post, bent forward with my arms high above me. It was not a comfortable position, and the sudden change in the way that I was being treated was making me increasingly nervous.

I watched as the recently bought slaves were positioned behind the cart and the chains running from their collars attached to the rail in front of me. The first of them was now only a couple of feet away from me and I realised that they were staring at me. I could see the hate and anger in their faces, and I wondered if that was directed at me, it suddenly felt like everyone hated me. Two of the guards jumped on the back of the cart on either side of me, and the cart lurched into motion.

We travelled at walking speed but, as the night grew darker, I knew that we had travelled a long way, certainly a lot further than Miss Ashley's mansion. When I had heard her talk about her estate, I'd thought she meant the grounds around the house, but clearly we were travelling elsewhere.

At last, the slave master called a halt. The bald slaves were unlocked from the cart and made to lie down on the grass, where the chains on their collars were staked to the ground, ensuring that they could not get up, let alone get away. Kim was released from her cage and left kneeling on the ground, where a post had been driven in and her wrists were restrained behind it.

Finally, I was released and, to my surprise, my wrists were left unshackled, and I was not restrained at all. I soon found out why.

"You!" the slave master shouted at me, "get cooking, and then water the others."

So, my role was to be a skivvy. I hoped that that was all that would be required of me…

Somnium, Day 42:

Dear Diary,

While the guards started a fire, I found that, on the cart, was a large pot filled with a fairly nondescript stew. I struggled to lift the heavy pot off the cart and over to the fire, where I finally managed to get it over the flames without burning myself. I also found a number of bottles of water, and I went to get one of them to start giving it out to the others.

As I approached the cart, one of the guards was just picking up a couple of other bottles, which looked like alcohol. He gave me a smile, which turned into a leer, and as I turned away, he slapped me hard on the buttock, making me jump and let out a squeal, which was all but silenced by the stifling mask I was wearing. I heard him chuckle as I quickly moved away.

I went to Kim first, as she was the highest ranking slave, and carefully poured the water into her mouth until she was satisfied. I then moved on, to the new slaves, giving them the water one at a time, returning to the cart for a new bottle as required. When I had finished, I really wanted a drink myself, but realised that that was going to be impossible unless I removed the mask, or at least took out the ‘bung’ which blocked the tube going into my mouth. I looked around and saw that the slave master and the guards, sitting around the fire drinking, were watching me closely, and I was frightened that I would be punished if I interfered with my bondage in any way. So, regretfully, I put the last bottle back on the cart and returned to the fire, so that I could stir the stew.

I felt intimidated by the closeness of the men, feeling their eyes upon me. Eventually, the stew was hot enough, and the slave master handed me five plates, clearly one for each of them and one for all the slaves. I served them first, obviously, and then took a plate around the slaves, starting with Kim, spooning the food into their mouths. There was just barely enough to go around, especially once the men had helped themselves to seconds, and I found that there was none left for me, even if I could have taken off the mask to eat it. I was feeling desperately hungry, but there was nothing I could do.

"Aww, look," one of the guards said with a grin, "our little crossover hasn't got anything to eat!"

"That's okay," another chipped in, "we can soon sort that!"

The two men jumped up from the fireside and grabbed me, grasping my arms and frogmarching me backwards until we were close by where Kim was secured. One of them held me from behind, twisting my arms behind me and putting me in a headlock, whilst the other one rotated and pulled the stopper from over my mouth. My mouth was now wide open and available, and as I watched the man in front of me loosening his pants, I knew what was coming.

"Here you go, honey, suck on this and I'll give you a healthy protein drink!"

I choked as he thrust his erection through the ring and deep into my throat. Not concerned with whether or not I could breathe, he grabbed my hair and repeatedly forced himself into me. I struggled to free myself, but it was no use, the man behind me was holding me too tightly. I had to endure what was basically a ‘face fucking’ until, with a grunt, the man shot his load into my mouth, and I had no option but to swallow it.

I looked over at Kim, and was shocked to see her smiling. Did she think I was enjoying it? Did she think I deserved to be treated this way? Or was she just relieved that she was not receiving the same? I didn't know, but I found her lack of empathy distressing.

"Who's next for a go on this slut?" As I saw the other men striding towards me, a sense of fear and loathing threatened to overwhelm me…

Once all four of them had fucked my mouth, the guards dragged me over to a nearby tree and forced me down into a kneeling position, before pulling my arms around the back of the tree and locking my wrist manacles together. Then, laughing and joking between themselves, they returned to the campfire, smoking and drinking until the early hours. Despite my uncomfortable position, I quickly fell asleep, my head lolling on my chest.

I woke at some point during the night to see one of the men weaving his way in my direction. With a sinking heart, I guessed he was returning for a second go, and I wearily raised my head, leaning it back against the tree trunk. I watched as he unfastened his pants and pulled out his member, but then let my heavy lids droop.

What happened next was thoroughly disgusting. I felt something warm and wet in my hair, and a very pungent smell assaulted my nostrils. As I opened my eyes in alarm, I saw the long stream of urine spurting towards me, hitting the mask - it was the only time I was glad I was wearing it. But even that momentary good fortune was dispelled when the man in front of me directed his piss straight into my gaping mouth. I instantly turned away, but the damage was done, leaving me with the hideous taste on my tongue as I tried to spit out the foul liquid. When he was finished, the man returned to the others without a thought for me, while I retched and sobbed at this new degradation.

As the sun came up, we resumed our journey, once more locked in our various positions on and around the cart. At last, we pulled to a halt alongside a group of buildings, and I guessed we had reached our destination. The marching slaves slumped down on the path, while I tried to stretch some of the aches and stiffness from my body, but without much success, given that it could still hardly move.

I heard the slave master open the cage behind me and release Kim, who walked down the cart and stood alongside me.

"Welcome to your new life," she proclaimed, addressing the new slaves in front of us. It seemed that, as the highest ranking slave here, she was going to be standing as proxy for our owner. I reflected bitterly on how our relationship had so quickly changed, from that moment in the stables when we seemed to be sisters, or perhaps something more…

"I know you were proud warrior women of Oveipo, but you must accept that you have been defeated and are now the property of our owner, Miss Ashley. If you rebel or do not work to her satisfaction, she will be harsh in punishing you, have no doubts about that.

“But if you work hard, you will find her a kind and generous owner. For example, she has magnanimously decided to allow you to remove your prisoner numbers and grow back your hair, thus allowing you to regain some of your dignity. And this-” I felt her hand on my head and realised she was talking about me- “she has provided this slave to serve your needs, and she will be yours to do with as you wish, until such time as Miss Ashley decides that the slave is to be redeployed.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing – I was to be their slave? As if reading my thoughts, Kim turned my face to her.

“I think this will teach you your place, little slave.” She removed the mask from my face and then, gripping my chin in her hand, kissed me firmly on the mouth, her tongue aggressively exploring my mouth. This was not a kiss of passion, it was one to demonstrate her power over me.

"Hmm, interesting mouthwash," she smirked, before reaching down and, to my alarm, unlocking and pulling away the chastity belt around my waist and between my legs. For the first time since my induction in the Slave Hall, I was unprotected, open to abuse by anyone who might wish to assault me. I nervously glanced at the guards, and saw their openly grinning faces. It was clear that what I saw as a threat, they took to be an opportunity. Kim turned to the slave master.

"They are all yours, Sir," she said deferentially, but it was still obvious from his reaction that she was in some kind of position of power - she was a consensual slave on her probationary period, and also clearly her owner’s favourite, and therefore untouchable, in more ways than one.

"Okay, let's get these slaves stowed," he called out.

The guards led the prisoner slaves away, while the slave master released me from the platform and pulled me down off the cart. Once he had locked my wrist manacles together behind my back, he shoved me in the direction of the column of prisoner slaves as they approached what looked like a tin shack. As I caught them up, they were hustled inside by the guards, who were releasing their wrist shackles as they entered.

As I reached the door, I saw that the interior of the shack was very dark, as the building was windowless, but I could see that the floor inside was just compacted earth, and the slaves had merely thrown themselves down on the ground, as there were no mattresses, or anything else in there by way of furniture- they really were going to be living in spartan conditions.

Suddenly, one of the guards grabbed me and pushed me inside so forcefully that I stumbled and fell headlong onto the dusty floor. As I looked around, expecting to see one of them coming to free my wrists, I saw instead the door of the shack being slammed shut, and I heard the key turn in the lock. The only light inside the small room now was provided by the daylight coming through the gaps in the corrugated iron sheeting which formed the walls.

I was alone, surrounded by the slaves who, I now knew, were warrior women from some enemy country. They began talking in some foreign language I couldn't understand, but by the glances towards me and the occasional outbreaks of laughter, I guessed they were discussing me. I started to tremble with fear.

"Hey you," one of the women shouted at me, "get over here!" I struggled onto my knees and shuffled over to her, feeling humiliated as the other slaves laughed and pointed at my breasts, jiggling up and down, and from side to side. Despite the fact that the woman was naked, bald and in chains like all the others, I somehow got the impression that she was in charge. Maybe she had been the senior rank in their troop, but the others looked to her and fell silent when she spoke, listening intently and laughing sycophantically on occasions.

"So, you are filthy crossover," she spat in her thick accent, which sounded vaguely East European, "now, you are my bitch. Here, clean!"

She pushed her foot into my face, clearly expecting me to lick it. It was filthy from the march, covered in mud, dust and blood, where the foot had been cut by sharp stones. The prospect of having it in my mouth was disgusting, but as I looked around at the leering grins of the other women, I knew I had no choice. Reluctantly, I leaned forward and put my tongue against the dirty skin. A chorus of laughter greeted my abject submission, but I ignored my humiliation and carried on, trying to blot out of my mind what I was actually doing.

When I had thoroughly cleaned that foot, she gave me the other one to work on, and I did so, despite the dryness of my mouth and the stomach-turning tastes I had to endure. While this went on, several of the other slave women had come up to me and groped me, seeming to take great delight in squeezing my breasts and shoving their fingers into my pussy or even my bottom. I had to try and ignore this, because each time they managed to distract me and I turned my head away from the leader’s feet, she grabbed my nose ring and painfully put me back on task.

"Very good, "she remarked as she examined her nice, clean feet, "now, this Miss Ashley, she say we can remove prisoner numbers from forehead. You lick it off!"

Somehow, I found the thought of being that close to her face even more scary but, once again, I really had no choice. I leaned up and started to lick at the number, which appeared to have been spray-painted onto her bald head through a stencil. The mixture of sweat, dirt and paint was as bad as anything on her feet, and I felt like retching, but managed to control myself. The paint came off only slowly, and I had to repeatedly lick each spot before I could remove it. Whilst I continued this laborious task, the slave leader amused herself by playing with my breasts, twisting and turning the nipple rings until I squealed in pain, which brought a peal of laughter from everyone.

At last, the job was done, but my work was still not over.

"You are good with tongue,  fena,” she said, running her fingers down my cheek, "so now you put to good use." She twisted her fingers in my hair and dragged my head down until it was nestled neatly between her thighs.

The smell of her was overpowering. I'm sure she hadn't been able to wash for God knows how long, and she had had to urinate and defecate without any way of cleaning herself, so it wasn't surprising, but that didn't make it any more pleasant. Trying to hold my breath, I stuck my tongue between her pussy lips and began to work. She was very dry to start with, but gradually my efforts paid dividends, and I eagerly lapped at her vagina, craving the moisture which she could provide. I became almost frantic in my ministrations and she, in turn, responded loudly and actively, thrusting her hips into my face. The crowd around us began a rhythmic clapping, rising in tempo as her cries and my bobbing head indicated that she was approaching her climax. When it finally broke over her, I sucked thirstily as the juices flowed from her, while she squealed out her pleasure and the crowd cheered and applauded. It felt very strange to have an audience for an orgasm!

The leader pulled me up until my head was resting against her breasts and held me there. A few minutes later, I realised from her rather loud snores, that she had fallen asleep. This seemed to prompt a general settling down, and soon all I could hear were soft breathing, gentle snoring, and the occasional fart. I felt horribly frightened to be trapped amongst these fierce warrior women, but it wasn't long before I too fell asleep…

Somnium, Day 43:

I woke up the next morning as I rolled onto the hard floor, my ‘cushion’ having decided to get up. I realised my wrists were no longer locked behind my back, which was somehow less reassuring than it could have been. It implied that someone in here had released me, which meant that they could just as easily render me helpless again.

“Hey, fena, get food,” the leader growled at me as she stood up and stretched.

Holy shit! I’d seen that these women were big and muscular, but this was actually the first time I’d been up close and on the same level when one of them rose to her full height. She was fucking huge! As I scrambled to my full height of five foot six, she was still at least a foot taller than me. As the others began to rise, I suddenly felt like Gulliver in Brobdignag, these women were positively Amazonian, although I’d always imagined Amazons to be more good-looking and less like the mutant offspring of a platoon of marines. I scuttled out of the moving redwood forest and looked around desperately for food - I did not want to piss these ladies off!

Just outside the now unlocked door, I found a large vat of what looked like wallpaper paste, but it was warm and must have been recently delivered. There was a pile of tin bowls, and I started doling out the grey sludge with the ladle provided. I made my way back through the giants to the boss and gave her the food, also handing her a spoon. She snatched it off me and immediately began shovelling the stuff into her mouth with all the grace and elegance of a hyena ripping out the insides of a zebra, making me hurry away to serve the others, before they became too restless.

Once they were all provided for, I went back to the pot and found there were no more plates, no more spoons and precious little porridge. But I was so hungry, I scraped the remnants from the sides of the metal container with my bare hands and sucked it off my fingers. My lady-like manners hadn’t lasted too long, and I felt reduced to their level.

“Fena! Water!” Frantically, I scurried around until I located  a pile of tin cups next to a trough of scummy water, and I started delivering it to the slaves. There were exactly enough cups to ensure there wasn’t one for me. I didn’t care, I just used my hands to scoop up the water, but I knew it was just another humiliation – I wasn’t really worth the effort of providing another set of utensils, I was just a filthy crossover, wasn’t I?

"Okay, everybody outside!" The slave master and guards had returned and I heard the crack of a whip as they ‘encouraged’ the prisoners to file out and stand in a row. As I looked over from the trough, I noticed that the guards were nervous, which was probably a healthy response, given that the women were taller and looked much stronger than them. Each of the guards had his whip in one hand and the taser in the other, ready to strike at the first sign of trouble.

"Down on your knees, hands behind your back!" the slave master shouted, "You!" I realised he was addressing me, and I scurried over to him, also getting on my knees as a sign of my willingness to cooperate.

"Get that chain and fasten their collars together! Quickly!"

I was shocked that I was the one who was going to have to restrain these monsters, but I realised that none of the guards wanted to get that close to them, or have to put down his weapons. So, reluctantly, I went over to the pile of metal, picked up the heavy chain and as many padlocks as I could carry, and went down the line of slaves, attaching them until they were all strung out in a line. As I did so, they each looked at me with very obvious hatred, and I found my hands shaking. I wanted to tell them it wasn't my fault, I was only obeying orders, but I don't think it would have made much difference, they had clearly decided that I was somehow complicit in their enslavement.

"Up! Come on, let's go!" The line of slaves got to their feet and trudged away, following one guard and being hustled along by the others. I was glad to see the back of them, and wondered what my tasks for the day would be.

"You too, you stupid bitch!" The slave master chained my wrists together and pointed at a large sack, telling me that I had to take it and follow the others. I took hold of the end of the sack and tried to lift it, but it was too heavy, making metallic clinks as I moved it, like it was full of tools. In the end, the best I could do was to drag it along behind me, and the slave master pushed me towards the back of the line, slapping my arse as I went. I looked back at him in mute plea for mercy, but he was just standing there, smiling at me. Miserably, I trooped after the rest of the slaves, dragging my burden behind me, until a swift slap of the whip across my back made me struggle to catch up. I had a feeling this was not going to be a good day…

We finally reached a large field, full of stubble, and the slaves were formed up in a line at one end of it. One of the guards called me over and told me to open the sack and distribute what I found in there. It turned out that it was indeed full of tools - spades and forks -and I handed these out to the Oveiponese warriors, uncomfortably aware that I was now providing them with weapons, if they should decide that this was a good point at which to make a break for it. I saw them glancing towards their leader who, thankfully, gave a slight shake of the head. I had little doubt that the first post-break out item of business would be to deal with me!

The slaves began the backbreaking work of turning over the entire field, and I was assigned the task of ferrying water from a standpipe at the end of the field to the slaves, who were soon bathed in sweat, toiling under the unforgiving sun. They worked surprisingly hard and astonishingly quickly, and I was constantly scurrying to and fro, fetching water for them to drink or to pour over their bald pates. I found the task gruelling, and I was soon having to douse myself as well, but I was just grateful that I wasn't being made to dig that field like them!

The guards called a halt after a couple of hours, and I was ordered to confiscate the slaves’ tools and release them from the chain joining their collars. As I did so, they sat down on the ground, covered in sweat and breathing hard, but I noticed that none of them were exhausted and collapsing - these women were fit! I could see that the guards were as uncomfortable with this as I was - we were all thinking ‘these women are warriors’, and it was clear that they could easily overcome those guarding them if they so chose.

But, as I looked along the line, and specifically at the leader, there seemed to be no inclination to try and escape. Maybe they had accepted their status as slaves after all, perhaps it was part of the warrior code that, once they had been defeated, they would go quietly into servitude, no longer seeing themselves as worthy to be considered warriors. Or perhaps they were just trying to lull us into a false sense security, and would kill us all at the time of their choosing. It didn't make for a very restful break…

"Fena! Come!" The leader’s peremptory order filled me with panic as I made my way over to her and a couple of the other slaves standing in the shade of some trees by the side of the field. As I stood in front of her, she reached out and stroked my face.

"I like you, Fena, you're cute," she purred, smiling down at me.

"Er, thank you… er… Miss?" The diminutive term seemed entirely inappropriate for her, I felt like I should be calling her ‘Sir’, ‘Commander’, or possibly ‘Your Majesty’.

"I think we could play a little, no?" As she said this, the woman behind me grabbed my wrists and help them above my head in a vice-like grip, while I felt a hand snake around my body and grab my breast, squeezing it painfully. I let out an involuntary whimper and struggled to break free, but I was wasting my time. I looked over at the guards, relaxing on the grass a few yards away, but they were merely watching events with interest and evident amusement.

"I like pleasure you give with tongue," she went on, illustrating her point by grabbing hold of my tongue and pulling it as far as it would go out of my mouth.

"Maybe we give you pleasure?"

This unexpected offer took me completely by surprise, and I was just about to ask what she meant, when I felt her hand between my thighs. My lips formed a perfect 'O' as her thick, calloused finger worked its way between my pussy lips and slid into me. I tried to pull away from her, but all I managed to achieve was to squirm about on her delving digit. I gasped in alarm as I felt her thumb close down against my pubic mound, but she was astonishingly gentle for someone so large, and I soon had the bizarre experience of being gripped between her thumb and forefinger, one inside me pressing against my G spot, the other stimulating my clitoris.

A second hand came around my body and both breasts were now being roughly massaged. Given that I hadn't had an orgasm for well over two months, it was not surprising that I was soon moaning and crying out in pure delight, oblivious to the audience around me, enjoying the show.

When I came, it was one of the most powerful climaxes I'd ever had, and I found myself hooting and screaming in total abandon, my legs and arms dancing like I was a marionette in the hands of a road worker on the pneumatic drill. It seemed like it would last forever, the electric effect coursing through my body with almost destructive effect. When it finally ended, I found myself hanging by my arms, utterly spent and my body as limp as a jellyfish.

As I gradually came back to the world, I heard the sound of laughter, at first from the women around me, but then from the other slaves who had played no part in my humiliation. I also heard the guards laughing, it seemed that everyone had enjoyed watching me embarrass myself. But, in a way, I didn't care. I was still basking in the afterglow of one of the best orgasms of my life!

"You clean now, Fena." Rather more self-consciously, I licked my own juices off the finger in front of me.

"T-Thank you, Miss," I mumbled, still marvelling at the dexterity of the huge woman. She just gave me her wicked, unsettling smile, and turned away.

"Okay, back to work! Fun’s over!"

The slaves went back to their toil, and the guards didn't even make me chain them up again - they must have decided either that it was safe to leave them unencumbered, or that it was futile to try and control them. Whatever the case, the work continued apace, and half the field was completed by the time they called a halt for lunch.

It was my job once more to run around giving out the food - as before, it was some nondescript stew - and water to the guards and slaves alike, but at least this time there was enough left for me. When I had finished my duties, one of the guards called me over to them.

"That was a pretty good show you put on earlier, slut," he leered, "why don't you give us an encore?" He threw the empty beer bottle in his hand over to me and, after a moment's confusion, I realised what he wanted me to do. The look of shock and disgust on my face made them burst out laughing.

"Come on, bitch! If you can do it with those ugly fuckers, you can do it for us!" For some reason I looked around at the other slaves, possibly hoping for some kind of support, but they were just as interested in a little entertainment as the guards had been when they had their fun. I turned back to the men, knowing that I was going to have to debase myself in the most humiliating way.

I planted my feet in the dirt maybe a yard apart, and brought the neck of the bottle reluctantly to my opening. The smooth glass was cold against my hot skin, but it was a relief more than a shock, and I gradually worked it into me, drawing cheers and jeers from my audience as they saw my cheeks redden, my mouth hang open, and my eyes close with my growing arousal. Slowly, I worked the neck in and out, feeling the strange sensation of the hard surface inside me, which was nevertheless turning me on. I was soon panting for breath, my free hand squeezing and fondling my breast as I once again entered that zone where nothing and no-one impinged, save for the object inside me, fucking me.

Suddenly, I felt myself being grabbed, the bottle pulled off me and tossed aside, and it became obvious that I was not the only one in a frenzied state of sexual foment. One of the guards was lying on the ground in front of me, and I was roughly pushed on top of him. He had already pulled down his pants and he quickly entered me, with no resistance from my wet, eager pussy. Moments later, I felt the weight of a second man on top of me, spreading my legs, prizing my buttocks apart, and forcing himself into my anus, drawing a desperate cry from my lips at the pain of this violation. As I continued to protest, fingers twisted in my hair, my head was turned, and my mouth filled by a third phallus, silencing my cries.

The three men rode me, using me like some kind of sex toy. I would like to say that I hated it, that I fought them every moment, but it wouldn't be true, the fact was that I was so inflamed with lust already that I was loving it, doing all that I could to contribute to the coupling (or should that be tripling? Quadrupling? Maybe just fucking). I think I reached my climax at the same moment that cum spurted in my mouth and was then directed across my face. As my vaginal and anal muscles began to reflexively contract, the other two men cried out as they found themselves being squeezed to the point of ejaculation. By the time they had been thoroughly milked, my exhausted body was splattered all over with their seed.

"Not a bad fuck for a crossover," one of the men said as they stood over my prostrate body, laughing and high-fiving each other. Whatever humiliation I might have felt at this degrading treatment was easily held at bay by my post-orgasmic glow.

The rest of the afternoon went by in something of a daze for me, running hither and thither, fetching and carrying water to the slaves. Remarkably, by the end of the day, they had cleared the entire field, a feat I would not have thought possible when they started. As we all trudged wearily back to the hut, I pondered on what a good deal Miss Ashley had got on these slaves!

Outside the hut and down one side were a number of shower heads, and the slaves jumped under the cold jets of water with unalloyed delight, playfully splashing each other, cooling off and getting clean at the same time. There was obviously a pecking order in place and, naturally, I was last in line, but it was worth the wait. I joined in the general squeals at the iciness of the spray, but found myself being pushed from one shower to the next in a game I didn't really understand , loosely based on ‘Pass the Parcel’, but it seemed to amuse them.

When I was finally allowed out of the showers, I shook as much of the water off as I could, as we weren’t given any towels, and went into the hut.

"Hey, girls! Found you something to play with!" one of the guards shouted from outside. I heard something thrown into the room and bounce on the floor, but before I could see what it was, someone had picked it up and handed it to the leader. She looked initially disappointed, maybe annoyed, but then a sly smile spread over her face. She said something in her native language to one of her subordinates, and suddenly I found myself being held face down on the floor.

The leader knelt down beside me, while the woman holding me down locked my wrists together behind my back and gripped my head so that I couldn't turn it. But I did manage to glance across at what the leader was holding - a rubber dildo!

"Not big enough for us," she said with a tone of mock disappointment, before smiling once again. "But maybe… for you?"

I struggled and tried to express my disapproval of the idea - I was already sore and exhausted by my earlier exertions - but the woman holding me absentmindedly put her fingers into my open mouth, making my words garbled and unintelligible, though I'm pretty sure they understood anyway. As was becoming the norm, they merely laughed off my protestations.

"You complain too much, fena," the leader smiled, "relax! You do what I say, you have no problem, Simples!"

Recognising the futility of my struggles, I closed my eyes and nodded my head in defeat.

Her use of the dildo proved to be as effective and pleasurable as her earlier work with her fingers, teasing me for what felt like hours as I entertained the troops with my range of vocalisations, including a passable impression of a honking goose and a grunting pig, before bringing me to another screaming climax. As I lay panting on the floor, I realised that while we may be separated by a language barrier, sex was a universal language like music, and she could get me singing any tune she wanted.

The payment for my pleasure was that I had to return the favour using only my tongue, first to her and then to a selection of her subordinates, presumably the next rank down. Just as I hoped that my task was complete, I saw that the ‘other ranks’ were now looking to their leader with hope in their eyes. Being such a magnanimous commander, she of course nodded her ascent, and I wearily brought my aching tongue to bear on the ‘privates’ of the privates as well. It was a long night!

As I finally drifted off into an exhausted sleep, I reflected on the fact that it seemed like I had become everybody's favourite fuck toy. Well, I suppose there are worse ways to spend your time…

Somnium, Day 67:

Dear Diary,

"If music be the food of love, play on." Ah, the immortal Bard!

Having finally lost my ‘Somnium virginity’, the band was certainly rocking it for me. My days and nights developed into a routine which seemed to involve very little sleep and an awful lot of exercise. During the day, my duties were, as previously described, keeping the work party of warrior slave women and their guards fed and watered. But I was frequently interrupted, usually by one of the guards coming up to me and taking advantage of one of my orifices. The concept of foreplay didn't seem to have reached the land of Somnium. My first indication that my services were required was often the feel of a hand clamping tight into my hair and directing me to the required position, either on my knees, on my back, or with my face pushed into the dirt - not what you might call a very romantic approach!

The other slaves were not allowed to take advantage of me during the day, but they seemed to enjoy watching, using it to fuel their arousal for the evening to come. As I said before, I was locked away each night with the Oveiponese slaves, and they took the opportunity to play with their ‘little fena’, as they called me. I was passed from one slave or group of slaves to the next and forced to partake in all sorts of obscene acts.

As you would expect, it was mainly me performing cunnilingus on them – the ‘favour’ was never once returned, by the way - and after a couple of weeks, I felt like I could lift weights with my poor tongue. But there were variations on this theme. They liked me to stick my tongue in their… well, much as it shames me to say it, their little brown holes. I suppose you could say I was lucky, in that the daily routine before we were locked away was to pay a visit to the latrine trench, followed by a shower, and these giant ladies were very meticulous in their personal hygiene, so by the time I got to them, they were at least clean. I still found it repulsive though, as well as completely demeaning and degrading, to be forced to do that.

Then there were the toys. The guards had supplied them with a dildo quite early on, and they took great pleasure in using it on me, as it was too small to provide them with enough stimulation. So I would be passed around amongst them, being prodded and poked with the damn thing and, much to my shame, being forced to orgasm after orgasm by them, which they seemed to find very amusing.

I saw one of the slaves working with some leather straps she’d got from somewhere and what looked like a flint which she had probably found in the field. She spent hours on the thing, and I had no idea what she was doing, but she kept taking the dildo and seemed to be checking whether it went through a hole she had made, which started to make me feel uneasy. Then she cried out something in her native language and went over to the leader, showing her what she had created. The leader looked at it, nodded her head, and then burst out laughing.

"Come here, fena," she called over to me and, with a growing sense of impending doom, I scuttled over to her, kneeling submissively at her feet. I watched as she placed the straps around her hips, buckling them in front, leaving the dildo… poking out obscenely from her crotch. Now it was obvious, the woman had fashioned a strap-on, and there was only one place that was going to fit!

"On your hands and knees, fena, I want to try this out!"

Reluctantly, I turned away from her and assumed the position - what else could I do? Any one of them could easily overpower me anyway, and any resistance I had to them had long since been beaten out of me. So I knelt there as I felt the woman's massive thighs press against the backs of my legs, and her enormous hands grab my hips so that I could not pull away.

My first scream as she thrust into me brought cheers and applause from the other slaves. This turned to laughter as she lay on her back and pulled me on top of her, bouncing me up and down relentlessly on the silicone shaft. I felt tears of shame as well as pain coursing down my cheeks, feeling somehow more violated by this than anything which had gone beforehand. I don't know why that would be, maybe it was just the accumulation of humiliations but, as the naked, bald and chained soldiers turned prisoners turned slaves laughed at me, I broke down in absolute floods of tears.

Not that it made a blind bit of difference. The leader rimmed me until I climaxed, then passed me on to the others, along with the strap-on, and I was taken again and again, until there was not an ounce of strength left in me, and I flopped around like a rag doll, dazed and confused, my mind numb. They must have finished with me at some point, but I don't remember it, I must have passed out at the end. When I awoke, I was lying on the floor in the middle of the sleeping, snoring women, making me feel like I’d woken up in the middle of a herd of wild animals. I suppose that wasn't so far from the truth.

When we were released from the shed in which we were kept at night, I was surprised to see Kim standing there. I hadn't seen her in weeks, and I realised that she looked incredible - although she was still naked and wearing her chastity belt and slave collar and cuffs, her skin was clear, her hair was elegantly coiffed, and she might even have gained a pound or two. She had clearly been living a life of luxury, and it showed in her broad smile as she looked at me. I was suddenly conscious of just how awful I must look, my eyes shadowed and cheeks sunken with tiredness, my hair lank and unbrushed, my stomach empty and growling with hunger. I couldn't believe that, not so long ago, we were just slaves together, almost equals…

"Hello, slut," she said in a sneering tone. Even her attitude had completely changed, her pampering by Miss Ashley seeming to have fuelled her natural arrogance. I wondered if she was like this with others, or just me. I felt sick with worry about what her appearance here portended.

"The guards tell me that you've been having a high old life! Sex all the time and only very light duties!"

"No, please Miss, I-" I started, wanting to deny these ridiculous lies, but my pleas were interrupted by a violent slap across the face.

"Still haven't learned when to keep your mouth shut, have you, slut?" she shouted at me, and then actually spat in my face.

"You have become lazy and insolent! It is clear that you still have a lot to learn, you filthy crossover!"

She called out in the guttural language of the Oveiponese women, and the leader came across to me with one of her subordinates, smiling wickedly at me. I tried to back away, but they grabbed me, twisting my arms behind my back and connecting the manacles on my wrists. One of the guards threw them an extra set of steel cuffs, connected by a short chain, and I felt them clamped around my arms, just above the elbows, pulling them close together and forcing my shoulders back. As they held me firmly, Kim came to stand in front of me with a chain in her hand and, rather than attaching it to my collar, clipped it to the ring through my nose before handing it to the warrior leader, giving her some instruction in her native language. The woman looked down at me, smiling, and she tugged hard on the chain, making me cry out in pain and stumble after her. I couldn't quite believe it, but my life had suddenly got an awful lot worse, and what was really shocking was that it was Kim who was doing this to me.

The slave women suddenly seemed to be keen to get started with their work, marching purposefully out towards the fields, which meant that I had to run along behind to try and stop the chain pulling on my nose ring. I wasn't entirely successful, and each tug brought tears to my eyes. As I glanced around, I saw that Kim and the guards were following along behind, but they didn't seem to need to control or cajole the slaves. It suddenly occurred to me that the ex-warriors were enthusiastic about what was to happen today, and I knew that could not be good for me.

We came to a halt at one of the large fields that the women had cleared of stubble a few days before, and Kim led a couple of the guards to a small shed to one side. Between them they brought out an old, rusty piece of farm equipment, the purpose of which was not immediately obvious, and manoeuvred it onto the soil at one end of the field. Kim gave an order in the slave language, and I was dragged towards the strange-looking implement. Close up, I could see that the sturdy metal frame supported a harrow blade behind, with two wheels to either side and a long pole at the front. It looked like it should be hitched to a farm animal, such as an ox, but with a sickening realisation, I knew that the only dumb animal that was going to be pulling that thing was me!

I wanted to beg for mercy as I was turned around and my arms were chained to the plough, but I knew that would only bring me further admonishment. Kim watched as they locked me in place, a satisfied, smug look on her face. She called the leader of the slaves over and seemed to be giving her detailed instructions, before handing her a long, vicious-looking switch. The woman came across to me while instructing one of her colleagues to take my head.

"Well, my little fena, it seems that we will be watching you work for a change. Lenka will lead you to make sure that you plough straight, and I… I will be providing a little gentle encouragement!" She waved the thin cane before me, leaving me in no doubt of what kind of encouragement she meant.

Lenka, a beautiful, slim, dark skinned girl well over six and a half feet tall, put her arm around my shoulder and took the chain from my nose ring in her other hand, gradually pulling it forward and forcing me to take the strain. As I bent my back to the task, I found the girl-plough incredibly heavy and was sure I would never get it to move.

"Come on, fena, put some effort in!" the leader shouted as she brought the switch down hard across my buttocks. I strained every muscle, feeling like my arms were going to be pulled from their sockets, but it took a sharp pull on my nose ring and a second swipe from the switch before I finally, desperately, got the plough moving forwards.

As I progressed slowly down the field, receiving repeated lashes of ‘encouragement’, I saw that Kim, the guards and the rest of the slaves had seated themselves on a grassy bank to watch the show, and were laughing at my struggles. As I approached them on my first pass, Kim called out to me.

"Hey, slut, we’re taking bets on how far you’ll get before you collapse. I've got my money on you making it up and down five times, so don't disappoint me!"

As I turned and set off back up the field under Lenka’s guidance, I looked at the furrow I had made and then the rest of the field, and realised this could kill me! As the sun beat down, my straining body was soon bathed in sweat, and every time I allowed my pace to slacken even slightly, the switch cut another line across my thighs, buttocks or back, forcing me on.

I don't know how many furrows I had cut when I collapsed to my knees, physically unable to walk another step, but I heard cheers off to the side from those who had clearly won their bet, while howls of disappointment and accusations that I had ‘thrown it’ came from the losers. Meanwhile I could do nothing but kneel on the ground, my forehead on the soil, while Lenka poured cold water on my overheated head and neck. That was a sweet relief, but I knew that my respite was only temporary, before they forced me back to my feet and made me continue.

I looked forlornly over at Kim, the girl I had so recently thought my friend and companion, and saw her laughing and joking with the guards, all enjoying my suffering. This had to be the low point in my life - the thought that it could possibly get worse was just too awful to contemplate…

Somnium, Day 68:

Dear Diary,

I couldn't finish ploughing the field, it was just too much. Or at least that's what I thought. I was about three quarters of the way across when I collapsed on the ground for at least the twentieth time and just lay there, unable to move. I had been at this for hours, and the others had already enjoyed their lunch while I lay in the dirt, panting for breath and gasping for water. But I had reached my limit, I could go no further, I didn't care how hard they beat me anymore.

"Come on, Jenny," Kim said as she squatted on her haunches next to me, "I have to get this field ploughed today, Miss Ashley expects it to be done. I can't let you stop because that would send a signal to every other slave on this estate who thinks they can just quit."

I knew that she was serious, and I forced myself to make one last effort. But even as I staggered to my feet, my head began to swim and I could feel myself falling back down again. As my legs gave way below me, I felt myself being supported on either side, not just held up but lifted into the air! I raised my weary head and saw that Lenka and the warrior leader had stepped in, and they basically carried me along the field, up and back, with my feet dragging uselessly on the ground behind, until the whole thing was ploughed. It was an unexpected and very human kindness. As I knelt on the ground at the end of the field, I smiled up at them and thanked them.

"No problem, fena," the leader smiled back, "you thank us properly later." I knew exactly what she meant, and I nodded my head, more than willing to return the kindness.

So, at last the job was complete, and I was finally released from the plough. The working party made its way back towards the huts, but as we approached them, one of the guards roughly led me in a different direction, following Kim rather than the other slaves. I was suddenly nervous, fearing what Kim had planned for me this time. I was led down a tree-lined avenue and then, at the end, we emerged in front of a magnificent white-marbled house, like a miniature version of Miss Ashley's mansion.

"Welcome to how the other half lives, Jenny," Kim said in her most conciliatory tone of voice, "while you've been slumming it in those huts, Miss Ashley has installed me as the overseer for this whole estate.

"It's a shitty job," she said with heavy sarcasm, "but somebody's got to do it." I looked sharply at her to see if she was boasting, but I think she was just embarrassed at the huge disparity in our circumstances that had developed so quickly.

She dismissed the guard and led me into the house. I marvelled at the opulence of the place, wonderful silk drapes everywhere and beautiful furniture, superb artworks on the walls, and everywhere spotlessly clean, the marble flooring gleaming. I saw at least three maid slaves just as we went up the impressive staircase, all dressed in their tight black latex uniforms, all tightly gagged, and all working extremely hard.

"Miss Ashley made me put you with that working party to teach you a lesson, I'm afraid," she said, leading me into a huge bathroom, "but I think you deserve a little R&R."

She pulled me under the walk-in shower, and I felt her hands roaming across my body, cleaning off the grime of a day spent literally slaving away. I felt filthy, the dirt and sweat ground into my skin, but her touch was divine as she covered me in shower gel, lathering me from my feet to my face. She applied shampoo to my hair, and it felt incredible, the first time I had had my hair washed in weeks. I yearned for the opportunity to reciprocate, but my wrists and elbows were still locked behind my back, and all I could do was stand there and let her do it, which was actually no hardship whatsoever!

When she had washed herself as well, Kim towelled us both dry and then draped a diaphanous see-through robe over her shoulders, tying it at the waist. She looked quite regal, the Queen of all she surveyed, hardly a slave, even a consensual one.

As we walked through to the bedroom, she picked something up from the bedside table, and I was stunned as I watched her unlock and remove her chastity belt. She had the key?! It almost seemed like she wasn't a slave at all, maybe she was Miss Ashley's… pet? That thought suddenly made me think of my Mistress, back in that other world which I had left behind so long ago, and I felt sick with a deep sense of loss and longing. I wondered if my Master and Mistress missed me as much as I longed for them.

"Come on then, little fena," she said with a smile, lying back on the bed, her legs apart, "show me what those Oveiponese ladies have taught you."

I clambered onto the bed and did as she ordered. It felt strange to be using my lips and tongue on a ‘normal’ woman again, her sensitive bud, her labia and her entrance seemed so much smaller than I had become used to. But I think I did an adequate job, her reactions seeming to confirm that.

"Not bad, slut, not bad at all," she smiled as she put her chastity belt back on and straightened her robe, "but now it's my turn!"

It had been quite a while since anyone had used their tongue on me - it was so long ago, I couldn't remember who or when - and after all the rough sex I had endured from the guards and the warrior slaves, it felt absolutely amazing. Kim was remarkably gentle and skilled, and I suspect she had been practising on Miss Ashley in my absence. It wasn't long before I was moaning and groaning, then shouting and screaming my way to a glorious climax. She didn't stop there either, she made me cum multiple times until I was so hot and sweaty that I need another shower really.

"Oh my God, that was amazing!" I panted breathlessly, "thank you so much, Kim, I really needed that." She leaned over me, stroked my cheek and kissed me on the lips, our tongues tangling as she pushed into my mouth.

"You're very welcome, Jenny," she replied with a smile, "I know how much you've had to put up with in the last few weeks, and I was feeling a bit guilty about my part in it." Whatever doubts I’d had about Kim were dispelled, and I remembered the passionate kiss we had exchanged when we were both ponygirls together. I guessed there was still a conflict within her, the attitude that she had grown up with which said that all crossovers should be treated with contempt versus the feelings inside her towards me, which I guessed were some combination of sexual attraction, empathy for a fellow slave and submissive, and possibly something else edging towards love.

"I'm supposed to return you to the slave huts when I'm finished with you," she said with what sounded like regret, "but… I should really take the opportunity to practice my Shibari rope skills… What do you think?"

"Oh definitely!" I exclaimed. Anything to escape that place for a little while longer. "I'm sure Miss Ashley would want you to take the opportunity to use me as your model, all night if you have to!"

"Yes, I'm very rusty," she grinned, "it'll probably take me all night to get it right!"

And so it proved. Kim was actually excellent with the ropes, and I found myself standing, lying and hanging in a variety of interesting positions with tight ropes crisscrossing my body, for hour after hour. I even slept hanging from ceiling at one point! She also, delightfully, took advantage of my bound helplessness to inflict further orgasms on me as well. I tell you, you haven't lived until you've cum upside down and spinning by your ankle!

When I awoke in the morning with the sunlight streaming in through the curtains, I found myself lying on the bed, still covered in ropes, with Kim's sleeping body draped across me. It was a wonderful way to start the day!

We shared another beautiful shower together, this time with me free so that I could partake fully in the washing activities, although washing was not really the top priority. When we had dried ourselves, one of the maid slaves brought in breakfast, and it was the first decent meal I'd eaten in quite a long time - my table manners may not have been the most impressive as I guzzled down the delicious food.

But eventually we couldn't put off the evil moment any longer, and I knew I had to go back with the other slaves while Kim resumed her role as the estate overseer.

I was surprised when, rather than hand me over to one of the guards, she led me down to the slave huts herself, where I saw the working party just leaving for the day. I was expecting to be dispatched with them, but instead we went into the hut, where we found Lenka and the Oveiponese leader waiting for us. Kim spoke to them in their own language and they stepped forward, each taking one of my arms and forcing me to my knees. To my horror, I saw that Kim had a cutthroat razor in her hand, and my immediate thought was that she was going to open my wrists and make me watch as they drank my blood! I don't know where that wild idea came from, given the night of passion we had just shared, but I started struggling desperately to get free, of course achieving nothing.

"Don't panic, you silly woman, I'm not going to hurt you. Now keep very still!" Somehow, I felt reassured but still very nervous about what was to happen.

Kim walked around behind me and took hold of my hair, pulling it gently out to the side. There was a swift movement of the hand holding the razor, and suddenly the hair was in her hand and no longer pulling my scalp. I watched as she dropped it by my feet and took hold of another huge chunk, which quickly followed it onto the floor.

"Oh my God!" I whispered. She was slashing away all my hair and then I knew she would shave my head! It was my worst nightmare (apart from all the other nightmarish things that had happened to me), I'd always felt that a large part of my identity, my individuality, was tied up with my ginger/strawberry blonde hair, and now I was going to be bald, like these other slaves. Maybe that was it, I thought, this was my final step to becoming a permanent member of the work party. Miss Ashley had abandoned me, become bored with me, preferred Kim and was now consigning me to the backbreaking role of a field slave for the rest of my life!

As the blade began scraping across my scalp, working its way up from the nape of my neck and above my ears towards the top of my head, silent tears of loss rolled down my cheeks. I had thought that Miss Ashley cared for me, wanted me around her at least as her plaything, but I had just been fooling myself, I was no more important to her than these prisoners bought at the market.

"There, that wasn't so bad," Kim said, moving around in front of me. I realised that, although most of my hair had gone, I was not completely bald, she had left a small tuft right on top. I didn't know why, maybe it was just so that I could be differentiated from any other bald slave? It didn't make much difference to me, I just felt desolate.

"Don't be so miserable, Jenny," Kim chided, "we’re merely preparing you for your new role. Miss Ashley is looking forward to seeing you in your new regalia."

I looked up in hope - Miss Ashley still wanted me? Somehow, despite everything I had suffered in the last few weeks, my heart lifted. I'm still wanted!

And then I saw what Kim was pointing to, and my jaw dropped in shock…

"Oh my God!" I breathed, looking at the woman in front of me, standing by the door through which she had just entered. I recognised her, but just barely, she was one of the slave maids at Miss Ashley's mansion, but…

"I see you remember Connie," Kim smiled, following my gaze, "I'm afraid she… disappointed our owner and her punishment was to become my guinea pig."

The last time I had seen her, she had been wearing her maid uniform and a red ballgag, but now she was naked and in chains, though that was not what shocked me. Her head was shaved, except for a topknot, just like me, but that was not the shocking thing either. What filled me with alarm and, I have to admit, revulsion were the tattoos.

They covered her, literally, from head to foot. What looked like a twist of barbed wire was inked across her forehead and around her bare scalp, which was also ‘decorated’ with strange swirls and lines. A line of what appeared to be flowers covered her chest, while concentric circles tattooed onto her breasts made them look like some kind of target. A strange teardrop shape extending from between her breasts to the top of her pubic mound which was, of course, shaved bare. On either side of her belly button were multi-coloured depictions of angels, while her biceps showed more barbed wire and other patterns which seemed to have an Aztec inspiration. There was a snake painted on each of her thighs, curling around front and back, the forked tongue of each ending only millimetres away from her vagina. Even her shins and insteps were covered in sigils, and I had little doubt that these extended to her calf muscles and heels as well.

"Some of the stuff on her front is pretty poor, just early attempts," Kim went on, her tone self-critical, "but I'm really proud of her back. Give them a twirl, Connie."

The miserable girl, maybe twenty years old, shuffled her feet and turned away from us. I gasped in astonishment and horror at the tattoo of a red dragon, just like in the film, which went from the nape of her neck to the top of the crack between her buttocks, with tongue, claws and even wings stretching out with the twisting body to cover almost every inch of skin. As if that wasn't enough, a rose had been drawn onto each of her buttocks, again covering all available flesh. I felt sick for the poor woman as she slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, holding her knees close to her body, seemingly trying to hide the appalling body art.

"Don't worry, Jenny," Kim said as she turned back towards me, "I'll do a much better job on you."

I sat there, dumbly, her statement just not sinking in. She wanted to do that… to me? She intended to turn me into another… circus freak?! It couldn't be! It mustn't be!

"Noooooooooo!!" I screamed. A sudden surge of energy, born of terror, made me lash out at the giant women still holding me, if only loosely. I must have caught them off guard, because I was able to push one away and break free of the other. I ran to the door and blindly out across the courtyard, not knowing where I would go, not even thinking about that, merely acting instinctively out of self-preservation, because I knew that, if they did that to me, I could not live with it. I have always had a passionate hatred of tattoos, even the smallest, most inoffensive little design on an ankle or a buttock would send me into hysterics. The thought of being the Painted Lady that I had seen in there would kill me, or I would kill myself.

It seemed my sudden break for freedom had taken everyone by surprise, and I found myself out of the vicinity of the slave huts and heading down the track out into the fields. As my brain started to work, I realised the danger I was in - a runaway slave was liable to be shot on sight or, if caught, could be summarily executed by the slave owner or any of their staff. There was nowhere for me to run, just something to run from, and I kept going as hard as I could, until my lungs were burning, a stitch stabbing into my side, and lactic acid screaming within my thighs and calves.

I came to a halt, bent over and wheezing, whilst looking around desperately for somewhere to hide. Suddenly, I heard the sound of engines roaring in the distance, and realised that they were going to come after me on motorbikes. Trying to ignore the aches and pains from virtually every part of my body, I limped as fast as I could towards a nearby copse of trees. I noticed a tangled mess of undergrowth and headed for it, realising too late that they were brambles with sharp thorns. The engines were much closer now and I had no choice but to crawl into the bushes, gritting my teeth as I felt the vicious spines scratching at my skin. When I had made it to the centre of the thorn bush, I threw myself down on the ground, gasping for breath and turning my face to the soil with that irrational idea that if I couldn't see them, then they couldn't see me.

As the engines died and I heard voices shouting, I tried to get my breathing under control so that I could lie as still and as quietly as possible. I daren’t look up or around to see where my pursuers were, in case a movement gave me away, so my only clue as to their proximity was the shouts between them, coordinating their search.

"I'm sure the fucker came in here!" I heard being shouted in the distance.

"Okay, let's get organised and find the little bitch!" came the reply, "everyone in a line and quiet! "

Everything went silent and I held my breath. Long minutes passed as I tried to keep absolutely still, listening out in the hope of hearing them walk by, having missed me. Maybe I could get away with it. If they did go by, they wouldn't come back and I could sneak away in the opposite-

I felt something poke into my buttock.

"You come out of there, cunt, real slow, and maybe I won't shoot you."

I shot out of the bushes like a startled rabbit, not looking where the voice had come from, not caring about the ripping sensation of the sharp thorns in my back, I was just trying to get away, every moment expecting to feel a bullet tearing into me. Suddenly the shouts were all around me, but I just blundered on, heading I knew not where.

Miraculously, I made it out of the copse and onto open ground, running hell for leather in whatever direction I had emerged from the trees. But I heard the engines starting up behind me and rapidly chasing me down. Still I ran, even though in my heart I knew it was hopeless, but what was the alternative? Just meekly giving up and being taken back to be used by Kim as a pincushion seemed far worse than being finished off out here in the open.

As the noise became louder, I saw that I was being pursued by four of the guards, each on a quad bike, and they seemed to be content to ride parallel to me on either side, not making any effort to stop me. Again, despite it being obvious that I could not get away, and that they were merely toying with me, I carried on running as fast as I could. At that point, there was a loud crack and a line of pain suddenly exploded across my back, making me scream out in surprise as well as agony. As I glanced around, I saw that the guards had each taken their whips from their belts and were aiming shots at me as they rode along. This seemed to be a fine game as far as they were concerned, as they laughed when any of their colleagues missed me, but they were good, and they didn't miss very often.

Suddenly, one of the whips caught me around the ankle and I fell headlong in the dust. As I lay there, exhausted, filthy and in pain, the quad bikes formed a cordon around me and one of the guards ambled over towards me.

"So, not happy with just being hated as a filthy crossover," he said as he stood over me, nudging my inert body with his boot, "now you want to die as a runaway slave? Not a good choice, cunt. I think we'll just take you back and let Miss Ashley decide what she wants to do with you."

Moments later, my wrists and elbows were tied roughly behind my back and a second rope tight around my waist, pulled between my legs and looped under itself at the front. I managed to raise my head and see him tie the other end to the back of his quad bike, before he climbed back on it and fired it into life.

"You better get ready to run, slut, ‘cos I ain’t waiting for you."

Frantically, I scrambled to my feet as the bike started to move away. My knees were bleeding and my hip hurt from the fall, so I could only limp along behind the bike, but that soon changed when the rope between us became taut. The rough hemp suddenly ripped across my sex as it was pulled between my legs, and my incentive to keep up became painfully urgent. I ran as hard and as fast as I could now, ignoring all my other aches and pains, and my bursting lungs, in preference to not getting any more severe rope burns on my pussy. I couldn't focus on where we were going, all I could do was to try and stop myself from falling arse over tit, which really was the nightmare scenario because I was sure the guard wouldn’t bother to wait for me, he would be just as happy to drag me along like a dead animal.

I don't know how, but I made it all the way back into the courtyard in front of the slave huts without crashing to the ground. When the bikes stopped, I collapsed to my bloody knees, the pain in my chest from my pounding heart and overworked lungs managing to put all the other aches and pains into the shade. All I could do was wheeze like an eighty-year-old, trying to get oxygen into my body.

"Why did you do that, Jenny?" It was Kim, standing in front of me. "I'm going to have to report this to Miss Ashley, and she is going to have to take some action. If you went unpunished for this, there would be a slave revolution! I'm sorry, I really am."

I felt my arms grabbed by two of the guards, and I was dragged away to the far end of the courtyard. My arms were untied from behind me and, thankfully, the crotch rope taken from between my legs, but then they fastened my wrist manacles to the ends of a bar two or three feet long. A rope tied to the centre of the bar went up to a pulley wheel on what looked like a gibbet above me, and I found myself hoisted up into the air until my feet were dangling below me and above the heads of those around me. The guards walked away and I found myself alone, just left to hang, with no idea how long I would be there or what would happen to me afterwards.

Soon the manacles were cutting painfully into my wrists and it felt like my arms were going to be pulled out of their sockets but, below me, daily life carried on. The day heated up and I began to sweat profusely, while flies decided that I would be a great place for a rest from flying while they walked around, tickling me, investigating my wounds, probably infecting them at the same time. I saw slaves wander around below me, usually looking up at me in fear, knowing that this is what happens to you if you disobey. Guards, overseers and general workmen also looked up at me as they went by, but usually it was with an evil grin, as if to say I was getting exactly what I deserved, and I guess they were right.

At first, I didn't really regret what I'd done. As far as I was concerned, I had done the only thing I could, which was to try and avoid what I considered to be the terrible fate of being permanently tattooed across my entire body. But, as the hours passed and the pain in my shoulders became unbearable, I would have sold my soul to the devil if he had offered to get me down. How could I have been so stupid? I should have just submitted, like I always do, I'm a fucking slave! It's right there in the job title!

What was also starting to eat away at me, apart from the flies and the awful, nagging pain, was the realisation that this wasn't even my punishment, I was merely in a holding position until Miss Ashley decided what to do with me. I knew my situation was dire, that I could be put to death for my offence, but even that wasn't the worst of it. When Kim and I had been in the stables together, she had taken great delight one evening in frightening me by listing the ways in which a runaway slave could be punished. Being hanged was one of the milder sanctions! Being hung, drawn and quartered had, apparently, survived the Middle Ages in this place and was still on the statute book for crossovers, if not for ‘normal’ slaves. Another really winning idea was being ripped apart by horses going in different directions! What the hell was it with these people?!

I watched as the various slave work parties came in from the fields at the end of the day, including ‘my’ team of warrior women. I noticed some of them looking up at me and, to my astonishment, the looks were generally sympathetic, as if they understood that I was being harshly and cruelly treated and that, even though I was a ‘filthy crossover’, I hardly deserve this. Or maybe I was just reading too much into a glance as they passed by.

As the sun hit the horizon, I wondered if I was going to be left here all night and if, when I was finally brought down, I would still be able to use my arms.

"Well, well, well, my little crossover." I opened my eyes and saw that, below me and looking up at my hanging form, was my owner, Miss Ashley.

"You've caused me a lot of trouble, slut," she said sternly, "I've had to interrupt my work to come here and deal with your rebellious action today. What annoys me more than anything is that I sent you here to learn to be properly respectful and to become a good slave for me. And how do you repay me? By running away! I was ready to take you back into my house as one of my pleasure slaves again, but that's now impossible because of your stupid, petulant behaviour. I have to make an example of you now, to show to all the other slaves that I will not put up with such disrespect."

I wanted to beg her forgiveness, but I knew that wouldn't help, and it was not what she wanted, she wanted my silence and obedience. Unfortunately, I knew she also wanted my suffering, and I was convinced that I was about to suffer a gruesome death.

"However," she went on, giving me hope," Kim has told me exactly what happened and the cause of your response. She has been quite vocal in pleading your case and, in truth, she has softened my initial judgement. You should be very grateful to her. Get all the slaves out here!"

This last was to the slave master who had been in close attendance throughout, and he issued swift orders to the guards. Soon the entire courtyard was full of slaves, more than I had ever imagined worked on this estate. A small platform was dragged over beside me and Miss Ashley stood up on it.

"This slave," she declaimed, pointing up at me, "has broken one of the fundamental laws of our society, she has disobeyed me and tried to run away. I would be quite within my rights to have her executed right here on the spot, and maybe I have an obligation to enforce the law at its severest." I was starting to get nervous again, wondering if she had merely softened from making me watch my guts being spilled in the dirt to having my head cut off nice and clean!

"But I have decided, on this occasion, to be merciful. This slave is stupid and ignorant, and her defiance was, in truth, fairly pathetic. So I have decided that she should merely be flogged. Do not view this as weakness! If any of you should offend in a similar way, you will find my vengeance is swift and cruel!"

Well, I suppose being flogged is better than being executed, but it didn't sound like a thing to look forward to! Miss Ashley nodded to the slave master, who walked towards me, taking the bullwhip from his belt.

"You will receive fifty lashes, slave," he called out, loud enough for everyone to hear, "and you will thank your owner for each one!"

He went around behind me, out of my sight, and I steeled myself for what was sure to be one of the most painful and traumatic events of my life. Yes, I had been ‘flogged’ by my Master before, many times, but that was, generally, an erotic experience. This was going to be completely different.

When the whip hit me, the line of pain ran from my right shoulder to my left hip, and my anguished scream rang around the open space in the gathering gloom. It was searingly painful, so much worse than I expected, and there were instantly tears on my face.

"Thank you, Miss!" I cried, and then the second blow landed.

I think I must have passed out at some point, I don't really remember the details, all I do remember is the pain, the endless, unmanageable pain. I think they revived me so that they could continue until all fifty strokes of my punishment had been delivered. Eventually, I was lowered to the ground and released from the bar, only to find that my arms were completing numb and my legs gave way underneath me. But rather than falling to the ground, I found myself being lifted up and carried. I was taken into one of the huts, and I realised that it was the hut I had spent the last two weeks in and I was surrounded by the Oveiponese giants. In fact, it was their leader who had carried me over her shoulder and laid me gently on the floor, face down to protect my poor back.

"That was too much, fena, even for a crossover," she said angrily. I couldn't answer, I could hardly move, and I drifted into a fitful doze.

I let out a cry as I felt a hand against the tortured flesh of my shoulder, and I looked around to see Kim crouching beside me.

"There, there, Jenny," she said soothingly, "this cream will ease the pain." As she very carefully rubbed it all over my back and buttocks, I found that it was indeed dulling the terrible agony, and this time, I fell asleep properly.

I woke up to a very gentle shaking of my shoulder. I felt so much better after a night’s sleep, right up until the moment I moved. Suddenly, I felt like I'd aged forty years, every muscle, every inch of skin, even every bone in my body seemed to be screaming at me to just stop and stay where I was. I slumped back onto the ground.

"Come on, slut," I heard Kim say, but in a kindly voice, "time to get up! Life goes on, even for a naughty little slave like you."

I still couldn't move, and it wasn't until I was forcibly dragged to my feet, groaning and wailing the whole time, that I staggered out of the hut and into the daylight. Kim led me back towards the house, and I was surprised and grateful that the Oveiponese leader was alongside me, holding my arm and helping me along. It seemed like a kind gesture, but I was uneasy - neither Kim nor the soldier-cum-slave were particularly full of kind gestures. Mind you, after the previous day, when the big woman had carried me and Kim had treated my wounds, maybe I was being unfair.

Up at the house, I was led to a room I hadn't seen before, but as soon as I went in, my heart sank. I saw a set of wooden stocks on one side of the brightly lit room and, easily overcoming my feeble resistance, they forced my neck and wrists into the available slots, before closing and locking the top of the stocks in place, trapping me. What now, I thought with a mixture of a terrible tiredness and trepidation.

"I'm afraid Miss Ashley still wants you to be tattooed," Kim said, almost apologetically, "it's a matter of principle now, I'm afraid - you can't be seen to get your own wishes through what you did. I'm really sorry, Jenny, I know how much you hate this." Somehow, this didn't come as a surprise. Whatever the principle, I knew that Miss Ashley wouldn't tolerate being defied. This is inevitable, I thought, it’s going to happen, just suck it up.

Kim dragged some kind of cylinder across the room, and then I saw the dreaded tattoo needle.

"Your back is a bit of a mess at the moment," she explained, "so I'll start off by doing a few simple designs on your face." On my face?! What the fuck?! Even that other girl didn't have tattoos on her face!

In about no seconds flat, I went from resigned acceptance straight back to absolute terror, and struggled as hard as I could, first to get out of the stocks and then, when I knew that wasn't going to be possible, I kept moving my head around as much as I could so that Kim couldn't stick that fucking needle into me!

"Come on, fena," I heard the leader say from behind and above me, "like I say to my troops, you have to pick your battles. You can't win, you accept. Until circumstances change." Great philosophy, I thought, it's worked for you here, but this was the only battle I had to fight and if I lost, I was never going to get my face back! I kept on struggling.

Suddenly, the woman grabbed my chin and I felt her pulling on my nose ring. I just about managed to cross my eyes enough to see the chain which she had attached to it, but then my eyes were full of tears as she pulled mercilessly up on the chain until my head was back against the board of the stocks and I couldn't turn to either side without putting even more pressure on my septum. She had, in a matter of moments, taken all my options away while leaving virtually every inch of my face available to Kim. I watched helplessly as she slowly, deliberately and inexorably brought the buzzing needle towards my cheek…

Everything seemed to happen very quickly from then on and, with my watery eyes, in something of a blur. I caught a slight movement in the corner of my eye, then the door burst open. Kim rocked back on her heels away from me and span round to see what was going on. The chain on my nose ring was dropped and I was able to look around too. There in the doorway stood an Oveiponese woman, but this was no slave, she had hair, she wore some kind of uniform, and she was carrying a bloody great big gun. There was a loud cry from behind me, and even I could hear the triumphalism and joy in the shout.

"Captain," the newcomer said, standing stiffly to attention and addressing the naked woman behind me, "we fought our way here as quickly as we could. Somnium is overthrown! Long live the Republic!"

As about a dozen more soldiers piled into the room, it slowly dawned on me what had happened. Somnium had lost and these were the victorious Oveiponese troops, come to liberate their prisoners of war. I was stunned, didn't really know what to think. On the one hand I was overjoyed that they had interrupted and saved me from what was about to happen. But on the other, what did this mean for me, for Kim and for everybody else here on the estate? What was our future?

I could only hope and pray that the invading army would be kind to us…

Somnium, Day 71:

Dear Diary,

The battle was over, but we were all now prisoners of war, at the mercy of troops once more commanded by the woman who had been enslaved here, who had been forced to endure some pretty harsh treatment as well as back-breaking work. What would they do to us? I think all of us were filled with fear.

Kim and I were dragged out of the estate house and taken to the slave huts, where we were locked away ‘for our own protection’. As we sat on the floor looking at each other, we could hear sporadic gunfire in the distance and realised that resistance must be continuing, with some kind of mopping up operation under way, so maybe we were in the safest place after all.

"I don't think I'm going to survive this," Kim said forlornly, tears running down her face, "they know I was running this place day-to-day, and I'm sure they will exact a terrible revenge. But I was only obeying orders!" She put her head in her hands and began sobbing, totally distraught. I looked at her sympathetically - I had to really, I had been in the same situation, suffering all the same fears, only a few hours before. I still had no idea what would happen to me, but I felt she was right, that she would certainly suffer.

"If I get an opportunity," I responded, hugging her to me, "I'll put in a good word for you. After all, you saved my life by speaking out to Miss Ashley."

"Thank you, Jenny," she said through the tears, "but Oveipo is as hard on its crossovers as we are, if not worse! I don't think your opinion will be sought, heard or valued!" It was a rather bleak prediction, but probably accurate.

We spent the entire day in the hut, hearing noises from outside - people moving around, shouts in the Oveiponese language, and the occasional cry or scream of someone being mistreated, by the sound of it. None of it eased our fears in any way, and when the door opened to reveal one of the massive soldiers beckoning us, we were both trembling. I noticed that, while the soldier was clothed in the leather uniform and carrying one of their vicious-looking weapons, she was bald, and I guessed she was one of the slaves I had been billeted with before.

We were taken back up to the estate house and led to the office. There, sitting behind the desk poring over paperwork, was the leader of the slaves, who earlier the soldiers had addressed as Captain. She had also donned the uniform and, really for the first time, I noticed how sexy as well as practical it was. It looked like a bikini brief and cut-off tank top, teamed with thigh high leather boots and protective sleeves for the arms. It covered just about enough flesh to be respectable while allowing the soldiers to move easily in the oppressive heat of this region. But the plain fact was that the Captain looked very hot in it!

"Ah, ladies, welcome!" she said with a smile, leaning back in her chair, "I have to administer martial law in this area and, as you see, much paperwork! But I thought there was someone here you might like to catch up with."

As she said this, the door opened and one of the soldiers led in a slave, naked and in chains. She pushed the slave forward forcefully, causing her to sprawl across the floor in front of us. As she looked up, pushing the hair away from her face, Kim and I were both shocked to see that it was Miss Ashley!

"Please!" she croaked, looking up at the Oveiponese captain, her hands open in supplication, "have mercy on me, I beg you!"

"In the same way you showed mercy to me and my troops?" the captain demanded. "In the same way you showed mercy to my fena by having her whipped in front of all the slaves? I would be happy to show you that kind of mercy! Come here, fena."

I knew my ‘name’ by now and scurried over to her, wondering what ignominy she had decided to subject me to this time. She called one of the soldiers over, who made a grab for my collar, making me shy back in fear. But she brought a key up to the steel circle and unlocked it, pulling it from my neck, then quickly released me from the manacles on wrists and ankles. It felt so strange to have the weight of the shackles removed and I rubbed at the itchy skin, so long hidden from sight that I now had tan lines, making it look as though I still wore the ghost of the restraints.

The captain reached over the desk and pulled me forward by the ring through my septum, making my eyes water as my sprawling body scattered the paperwork she had been working on earlier. After a barked command, the soldier handed her a pair of what looked like small wire cutters, and she applied them to the ring that she was still holding onto. As I let out a panicked squeal, she cut through the metal twice, removing a section, before rotating it in my nose until it came away in her hand.

"There!" she exclaimed, slapping me playfully on the cheek, "you no longer slave, no longer crossover, just my fena!" I put my fingers to my nose, exploring the strange absence of the ring. The hole where it had been was surprisingly small and I knew that, without it, no one would immediately identify me as the lowest rung on the social hierarchy, the crossover. It felt like an incredible release, but there was now something I had to know.

"Thank you, captain," I said hesitantly, "but may I ask you a question, actually two questions?" She nodded her ascent and I ploughed on.

"Could you tell me your name, please?" She gave a smile and leaned back.

"I am Captain Onischenka, leader of the first battalion, Oveiponese Republican Guard, the ‘Fighting Harridans’! But I sense that is not what you are asking me, fena, is it? My given name is Viktoria. Does that satisfy you?"

"Yes, thank you… Viktoria." Somehow just knowing that made the imposing woman and army leader seem so much more human.

"Good! And your second question?" Now that it came to it, I wasn't sure whether I wanted to know the answer…

"What does… fena mean?" Viktoria threw her head back, let out a guffaw and then, for good measure, explained the joke to her subordinates, who also laughed uproariously, clearly at my expense.

"Why, I thought you would have guessed by now," she smiled, then put her arm around the back of my head, pulling me close to her, until our faces were only inches apart. I was starting to regret asking the question now.

"fena is our word for bitch. You have been my beautiful, skilful little fena since we got here!" She suddenly planted her oversized lips on mine, almost covering my nose as well, and I felt her powerful tongue force its way between my teeth and into my mouth. It was so long and thick, I felt like I was giving head! I was gasping for breath and more than a little flustered by the time the kiss, our first and last, was broken.

"Now, my little fena, it is time for you to experience some pleasure!"

She turned me until I was lying on my back on the desk, my legs spread, then slid me off the polished surface until my toes were just touching the floor. She gave a brisk command and one of the soldiers stepped forward and grabbed Miss Ashley, forcing her up onto her knees and directing her until she was between my thighs.

“I think you move from highest to lowest,” Viktoria said to Miss Ashley, “so now you service my fena, yes?”

“What? No!” Miss Ashley cried in horror, trying to pull away, “I can’t, not this… filthy crossover!”

“Either her, or I whip you, and you service every soldier in battalion!” No-one doubted she would do it.

Reluctantly, and with a look of pure disgust, Miss Ashley leaned forward and placed her lips gently on mine. I let out a small gasp as her tongue flicked along my opening, parting the ways like Moses at the Red Sea, before heading towards the promised land. But I was feeling terribly guilty that my erstwhile owner was being forced to pleasure me this way.

“Ohhhh… Miss… Captain… Viktoria… this really isn’t neces-OHHHHH! Oh my GOD that’s good! Oh yes! Right there, Miss! Oh GOD YES!!!” Forgetting my earlier reservations, I put my legs over her shoulders, and allowed her to bring me to the top of the mountain of pleasure, where I called for God loudly and insistently. Twice!

“Very good,” Captain Onischenka said as Miss Ashley pulled back from my prone form, her face slick with my juices, “for that I will waive the whipping. But you and your henchwoman” – she indicated towards Kim – “can still service my troops.”

“Please!” I cried as the two women were being led away, “don’t hurt them!”

“Do not worry, little fena,” the leader said, playing with my topknot, “they will not be harmed. Tomorrow, they will be taken to Oveipo for trial, and you will go with them. Unfortunately, I must stay here, so this is the last night you can use that magical tongue of yours on me.”

She swept me up in her arms and carried me away to the master bedroom, where she threw me down and… well, suffice it to say, my tongue was aching like buggery the next morning!

"Today you travel back to Oveipo to stand trial for your crimes," Viktoria said, addressing Miss Ashley and Kim in the courtyard outside the slave huts. They were still naked and in chains while I had, quite unexpectedly, been provided with clothes - for the first time in months, I was actually dressed! Okay, it was only a vest singlet and a pair of panties, but it raised me slightly further away from the position of slave, which now seemed to be allocated to my former owner.

I was feeling pretty tired after my night’s activity, but I didn't look anything like as bad as Kim and Miss Ashley. They had clearly been up all night, and they still bore the marks of their activities, including welts and scars, as well as deposits of various bodily fluids. Being a naturally submissive pain slut, I couldn't help being a mite jealous.

"Please!" Miss Ashley entreated, her hands clasped together in the classic begging position, "I was only working within the laws of our country, I did nothing illegal!"

"You enslaved and mistreated prisoners of war," the captain replied, clearly losing her patience, "which is an offence under Oveiponese law. Lenka and the crossover Jenny will accompany you to give evidence. You will march by day, it should take two days to reach the capital and the military tribunal."

I was surprised when she came and squatted down before my kneeling form.

"You are not really required to give evidence, fena,” she whispered, "once you get to the capital, Lenka will take you to my home, where you'll be safe and you will serve me when I return. However, there may be an interesting development on your journey, and I wish you good fortune. If I don't see you again, I want to say thank you for all you have done for me as my little fena.” She put her hand on my head and ruffled what was left in my hair, before straightening up and walking away without a backward glance.

I had no idea what her mysterious comment might mean, but there was no time to dwell on it as Lenka and the other soldier assigned to accompany us hustled me on to a horse-drawn cart. As I looked back, I saw Kim and Miss Ashley having the chains between their wrist manacles attached to the back of the cart. Lenka jumped up beside me and started the horse into a slow, plodding walk, while the soldier walked behind the two chained slaves. Again, the reversal of our positions was brought home to me as I travelled in relative luxury while they stumbled along in the dirt behind.

We travelled all day, with only brief stops for water and at lunchtime. Miss Ashley seemed to be suffering badly, not used to the heat, physical effort, or walking with bare feet. I pleaded with Lenka to allow them to travel on the back of the cart for a while and, rather to my surprise, she agreed, saying that we would never reach our court appointment on time if we didn't increase our pace. So, in the afternoon, the two prisoners and their guard rode on the back and we made good progress.

As the afternoon sun faded, we stopped at a tavern in a tiny hamlet, led the horse into the stable and booked a room. Lenka, the soldier and I enjoyed some very good home cooking, while Kim and Miss Ashley paid for our night’s stay by providing ‘services’ to the other customers. They made quite a sight as they knelt by the bar and, whenever a customer came to order drinks or food, provided oral relief. It was amazing how many of the customers, both male and female, went up to the bar quite so frequently, despite the fact that the establishment provided waitress service!

"fena,” Lenka said as she returned to the table with one of the waitresses, "Captain Onischenka mentioned you might find something interesting on your journey. This girl knows of a local legend which I know you will want to hear. Tell her." This last was to the young waitress, who looked rather nervous to be being ordered by the imposing soldier, but she began speaking to me haltingly, obviously not very proficient in English.

"One day, many years ago, rich merchant comes through here, stop at inn for night. She has slave with a ring through nose, how you say… crossover?" My ears pricked up at this, it was the first time in all the months I had been here that I had heard of another crossover.

"In night, slave run away, all village search for him. I saw him going to cave on hillside, I follow him, see him go to back of cave. Men arrive, search cave, cannot find him, cannot find body. He… just disappear!"

"Oh my God!" I exclaimed, "he must've found a portal, a way back to our world! Can you take me to this cave?" The girl nodded enthusiastically and, though my first instinct was to grab her and drag her outside, I turned to Lenka with a hopeful, questioning look.

"fena,” she smiled, "the Captain told me to let you go, you have earned the chance for your freedom. But, if nothing comes of this, you will come back to us and become Viktoria’s slave?" I was too excited to speak, so just nodded, smiled and took the girl's hand.

As we got up to leave, I saw Kim and Miss Ashley still by the bar but momentarily unoccupied, their heads bowed in exhaustion. I went over and squatted down, giving each of them a tight hug and wishing them luck. I then dashed out into the gloom with the girl leading me off into the countryside.

We had gone maybe a mile from the village and up into the hills when she pointed and I saw the entrance to the cave, dark against the rock wall. I turned and gave her a hug, then set off to scramble the last few feet up and into what I fervently hoped was my salvation.

With the light outside almost gone, it was almost impossible to see anything inside, and I inched my way forward, fingers feeling along the side, trying not to bruise my toes on any fallen rocks I might stumble across. I sensed the ceiling above me lowering as I moved deeper inside, and soon I could stretch out my arms and touch both sides of the cave. I began to panic that maybe this wasn't the place, maybe the girl had got the wrong cave, maybe it was all a lie for tourists, or a particularly cruel way to taunt crossovers like me. I was now bent over so that I could proceed under the roof, when under my foot I felt… nothing! My body, caught off-balance, pitched forward, and I was falling, falling…

I must have fainted or passed out when I hit the bottom because I woke up to find myself lying in the dark, in a puddle of stagnant water. I pulled myself up onto my hands and knees, and the first thing I noticed was that I was now naked. I must have snagged the vest and pants on the way down, but that didn't seem very likely…

"I hope you've learned your lesson, slut." I looked up and saw a slightly less dark circle above me and a shape moving within it. Master's voice? Master's voice?! MASTER'S VOICE!! Oh my God, I'd made it! I was home!

"Tie that rope to your wrist cuffs," I heard from above me as the end of a rope appeared, swinging before my eyes. I quickly did as ordered and, moments later, I was being hauled out of the hole and up into the world! It was my world! Our world! Master's estate, and there he was before me!

I fell to my knees and grabbed him around the legs, kissing and licking his muddy boots in joy and relief.

"Oh thank God, Master!" I sobbed, tears running down my face, "please forgive me, Master! I'll never leave you again! I'm so sorry to have deserted you, Master!"

"Are you okay, jenny?" I knew by the fact he had used my name that he was worried, "I know that was a pretty mean punishment, that's why I only left you down there for an hour."

What was he talking about? I'd been gone for months! I know I'm not the most important thing in his life, but he must've noticed! Surely he'd seen that my head was shaved? My hand went up to my head and encountered… hair. A full head of hair. Confused, I felt my nose, but there was no hole through my septum. My hand now went down to my thigh, to feel for the tell-tale hard, uneven skin where I had been branded, but… nothing.

"Maybe there were noxious fumes down there," Master was saying, "damn! That'll teach me not to act in anger! Come on, slave, let's get you back to the house." I felt him scoop me up in his arms, and I put my own around his neck, holding on tight and burying my face in his chest.

As he carried me back, I tried to make sense of what had happened. I was sure that I had been away for months, and that I had been physically modified during that time. Yet, it appeared that no time at all had passed while I thought I was away, and none of those changes existed anymore. Had I dreamed it all? Can you dream the events of two traumatic months in the space of an hour?

Master carried me into the house and straight upstairs, taking me into the bedroom.

"I think maybe you need to sleep it off," he said, opening the door of my cage and lifting me inside. I turned to him, seeing the concern on his face.

"I think I’m all right, Master," I smiled up at him, "but I do feel very tired. I had the weirdest dream…"

"Okay, slave," he said with evident relief, "but I'll be right here if you need me." He started to move away, but I suddenly felt very frightened.

"Please, Master," I asked in a quiet voice, "please lock me in, I’d feel a lot safer…" He gave me a curious look, obviously thinking it was another of my strange foibles, but he placed the padlock on the door and closed it, before moving to sit on the bed, looking down at me.

With a happy smile, I curled up on my mattress feeling, for the first time in weeks, safe and secure, back where I belong. It must have all been a dream, but what an amazing dream…

I moved around, trying to get comfortable, but somehow my mattress seemed to have become all lumpy. After a few more attempts, I decided it wasn't my fault, it was the bed’s, so I moved to one corner of the cage and lifted the mattress. There, underneath, I was surprised and mystified to see a book lying on the cage floor. What was this, did Master want me to do a little bedtime reading? Maybe it was a copy of the Kama Sutra…

I picked it up and opened it at page one, and was shocked to see writing in a vermilion pen. Not believing what I was seeing, I read the first line.

Day 1 in ?:

The End

Copyright© 2014 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.